Black and White
by andbemary
Summary: Nothing in this world is black and white. Choices can have far-reaching consequences that affect our lives and the lives of those around us: family and friends, for good or for bad, and sometimes forever.
1. Chapter 1

This Warriors fanfiction is based off of characters in a Warriors roleplay. Most of the characters in it are mine, drawn from the roleplay or created purposely for this fanfiction; the few that aren't mine belong to my friends and fellow roleplayers. The events described in this fanfiction all occur before and after those in the roleplay.

Because this is based off of roleplay, there are some differences in setting and terminology from those of the books. Much of the setting is located in the kittypet village north of the forest where the rogues dwell. The kittypets refer to themselves as housecats; their owners as housefolk; the vet as the vet; their houses as houses, homes, or occasionally nests; months as paper turns, in reference to the turning of a calendar page; days as red marks, in reference to the red Xs often used to mark on a calendar the passing of a day; and cars as moving contraptions.

Thank you, and happy reading!

The morning sun had already been up for some time when it first cast its rays into the room, and thus it was surprised to see that Lily was still in bed, curled up on her housefolk's blue comforter. Under the sun's fierce but warm gaze, the she-cat stirred and lifted her head before rising in full, stretching the sleepiness from her muscles and shaking it from her golden-brown pelt, which shone bright gold in the morning light. Yawning, she jumped down from the bed and pattered downstairs, having a light breakfast at her bowl in the corner of the kitchen before heading out into the garden through the flap in the back door. Arching her back to loosen any remaining knots in her limbs and shoulders, she took a quick trot around the garden, heading for the tall brown fence that ran along its backside. Without pausing in her gait, she quickened her pace and ascended the fence, teetering momentarily at its summit before leaping down, landing lightly on all fours. With a glance to either side of her and finding the alley clear of housefolk and cats alike, she turned and headed down the path to where it joined up with a larger, busier thoroughfare, at which point she abandoned the alleyway in favor of the southbound road, which she skirted all the way down to the park at the center of the village.

Lily increased her pace as she entered the green, heading straight for the brick wall that halved it and the village as a whole and served as the daily meeting place for the exchange of news, opinions, and gossip by the village housecats. Seeing that her usual spot on the wall between Jink and Maudie was as of yet unoccupied, Lily bounded over, scaled the wall, and settled herself down between them.

Maudie nodded to her in greeting, but Jink was turned away, his back to her, dark brown tabby fur bristling, and when he turned back around, he was scowling. Immediately upon seeing her, however, his features softened. "Lily! We were wondering where you had gotten to."

"I slept late," she explained, then tilted her head. "But what's got your fur in a bunch?"

His eyes darkened. "Not what—_who_. And Tinsel, big surprise there."

Lily frowned. "What—who—'s she going on about now?"

He snorted. "Perhaps the better question is, who _isn't_ she going on about?" He quieted then, his head swiveling around, and Lily leaned his way, her ears pricked as she picked out the thread of gossip being unraveled by Tinsel, an old gray she-cat who made everybody else's business her business to share with everybody else, and not without a few added twists of her own.

Now, Tinsel was sitting a few pawsteps from the brick wall, on the park lawn, and it was from this position that she wove her tale. Though she often claimed she was simply too old to climb and descend the high brick wall and assured everyone that she could see and hear them just fine from the ground, Lily suspected that Tinsel's choice of seating resulted more from her wish that everyone else could see and hear her, whether they wanted to or not.

At the present moment, she was capturing everyone's attention with the facts—or, at least, her take on them—about a young new member of the village, a pretty dark gray she-cat named Livia.

"Not only is she expecting kits," Tinsel was saying, leaning towards her audience for the full effect, "but she's expecting a _wild cat's _kits. Her housefolk were absolutely furious, of course, when they found out. They had intended to take her to the vet, of course, but hadn't gotten around to it, and of course they'd never imagine that she'd do anything at her age. And now they've locked her up. Which explains, of course, why she hasn't been around for red marks."

Now Tinsel paused for dramatic effect, allowing her listeners to digest this delectable tidbit. And the better part of them complied, gasping and whispering and tittering amongst themselves—for _of course_ it must all be true; Tinsel was the best-informed cat amongst them, and whatever other explanation could there possibly be for Livia's unexplained absence?

"And, on top of it, the father hasn't been seen since—well, since her condition was determined. Obviously he has no interest in being a father—he got what _he_ wanted, of course, and now he's left the picture and Livia, as well. Shameful—shame on her and shame on him, I say. But I suppose that's what comes of trusting strange cats one knows nothing about. Let that be a lesson you teach to your young ones."

Beside Lily, Maudie bristled. "I'll tell you what's shameful," the tortoiseshell spat as Tinsel moved on to spin a new yarn, "Tinsel and her shameless talk. Even if there's a kibble of truth in it, it's certainly none of her business, or anyone else's, for that matter."

"Particularly when Livia's not even here to defend herself," Jink growled. "I swear, one of these days I'm going to come up with an especially interesting piece of so-called 'news' about Tinsel and see how _she_ likes being the talk of the village. That would serve her right, eh, Lil? Lily?

But Lily wasn't listening. "Speaking of strange cats," she murmured, "look there."

Jink and Maudie followed her gaze. At the opposite end of the park, a cat was stealing across the grass. Its pelt was black and white in color, not exactly inconspicuous material, and yet no one else seemed to have noticed it. There was cover at either end of the park—lines of trees and bushes and flower gardens—but nothing between them but grass, the wall, and more grass.

The mysterious stranger disappeared momentarily from sight as it passed the edge of the wall, but the three of them turned their heads and Lily, her body, to watch as he crossed to the garden at the northernmost end of the park.

"I wonder what he—or she—is doing here?" Lily mused.

Jink shrugged. "Who knows? As long as they're not hurting anyone, it doesn't matter. I've heard of wild cats coming into the village, but I've never seen one myself, I don't think. I don't think anyone knows why they come, either."

"What, nobody's asked?"

Jink cocked his head. "Why should they? It doesn't concern us. Plus, it might be danger—Lily? Lily!"

But Lily wasn't listening; in fact, she was crossing the grass so quickly now that she probably couldn't have heard him even if she was.

The tom—for she could tell as she approached that he was, indeed, a tomcat—had his back turned to her, and for all she had heard about wild cats being impossible to sneak up upon, for they were always on their guard (one had to be, in the wild, of course), this one seemed to have no idea she was there.

"What are you doing?"

The tom spun around, and Lily saw a flash of silver. Though she was startled, for while she had anticipated his surprise, she hadn't imagined he would instantly resort to violence, she did not show it. She sat down, curling her tail over her paws.

He relaxed only slightly as the remembrance that he was in the village and the realization that she was only a meek, albeit curious, village cat dawned on him. He turned away from her with a growl and without an answer.

"I said, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

Lily tilted her head. "I don't know why a wild cat like you would want to pick daisies."

His head snapped back to look at her, green eyes blazing. "I'm not picking daisies!"

"Then what _are_ you doing?"

He narrowed his eyes, considering her. She _was_ only a village cat. Annoying, yes, but local and thus knowledgable, probably. "Looking for catmint. It's an herb."

She frowned. "Catmint? Well, if you're going to look here, you're not going to find any."

His lips drew back in a snarl. "I was told it would be here!"

"But, as you can see, it isn't. Not anymore."

"What happened to it?"

"Why do you need it?"

"Why do you care? Answer my question!"

Lily sniffed. "Well, if you're going to be rude about it—"

"_Please_." The blaze in his eyes and the snarl on his lips had disappeared; his features softened.

"Some of it died, and some of it was removed when the leading housefolk replanted the garden. It doesn't grow here anymore, not ever. But if you need it, I know where you can find it."

"Show me—can you show me where it is?"

Lily smiled. "I can, and I will. As long as you tell me why. Why do you need it?"

The tom shifted on his paws, glancing down at them as if noticing them for the first time and conscientiously sheathing his claws before looking up at her sharply. "My companions and I need it for the coming season."

"Why?"

He sighed, realizing she would not let this go, and thus resigned himself. "It helps to stop the cough and sickness that comes with the season," he explained. "And, before you ask, it doesn't grow in our territory. We've tried transplanting it, but every time, it dies. And if we don't have the catmint, so will we."

"Oh." For the first time, the village she-cat seemed to be at a loss for words. "Well… It's this way. Follow me." Standing, she started across the park, ignoring or oblivious to the fact that not only Jink and Maudie but the entire assembly of cats on the brick wall now were watching as she quit the park, followed closely by a black and white stranger.

It was a while before either of them spoke again; they followed the road north at a steady pace and had been traveling for a little while in this manner when Lily decided to take a new approach to broaching a conversation with the tom.

"So, what's your name?"

He looked at her sideways. What was with her? Was this characteristic of these village cats, that they felt some intrinsic need to probe into anything and everything? Still, he decided he had best go along with it; she was his guide, after all, and besides, there was something funny about her.

"Wind," he answered.

"Wind? Why are you called Wind?"

"Because it's the name my parents gave me."

"But why _Wind_?"

"Because all of us are named for nature. Why are you named… whatever you're named, hm?"

"Lily. And because that's the name my housefolk gave me."

"But why Lily, hm?"

"Because…because lilies are beautiful, I suppose."

"Do they also have big heads?"

Chagrined, heat flooded her muzzle and her pelt prickled. Still, she shot a glare his way, and he ducked his head. "Sorry," he muttered.

Silence came between them until, forgetting her embarrassment, Lily asked, "Where do you live, Wind?"

Without hesitation—without thinking, Wind replied, "South of here, in the forest beyond the field beyond these dens." Realizing what he had said, he stopped, but Lily pressed on.

"Dens? Oh, you mean houses. And you mentioned companions. Are there many of you? Or just you and your family?"

Wind didn't know why or how, but once more, he found himself answering the inquisitive she-cat. "There are enough of us. Not as many as are in the Clans, but enough. And we're not all related. I mean, we're probably all connected somehow down the line, but we're not one single family."

"Do you have any family?"

"Yes. A brother."

"And he is also named for nature?"

"Pike. And you?"

Lily started to shake her head, then paused, and shrugged. "I had littermates once upon a time, but we all have different homes now. In different villages, too." They turned down onto a narrower path and proceeded in silence until Lily stopped beside a tall wall, made of wood but without bark like the trees of the forest.

"It's just over this fence."

"Over it?"

She nodded, tilted her head. "What, can't you climb it?"

"Of course I can climb it."

"All right, then." Without further ado, Lily hauled herself up and over the fence, leaving Wind alone on his side. He gulped but, backing up and setting his jaw in determination, launched himself at it. His paws scrabbled uselessly on the slick surface, and he slid to the ground. Unsheathing his claws and backing up again, he threw himself forward once more, but his claws gave him little more purchase than before.

When he drew back from the fence for a third time, Lily was perched atop it, watching him with poorly concealed amusement. "There's a hole in the fence, so you know. Behind that bush." She indicated said bush with a flick of her tail.

"I'll manage," Wind growled through gritted teeth, hurling himself at the fence with a grunt. This time, he managed to get his paws on top of the fence, in between the pointed tops of its slats. However, his hind paws afforded him no help; they slid on the smooth wood, and his forepaws gave like aid; he could not haul himself over the fence, and so there he hung, looking—and feeling—rather foolish.

And though it stung his pride, he didn't resist when Lily stepped over to lend a helping paw, or, rather, jaw. Taking him by the scruff, she lifted him up so that he could get his footing beside her.

"It takes a lot of practice," she said kindly when they both had jumped down from the height of the fence. "You have to build up the right momentum and know just how to move your paws."

Unwounded except in dignity, Wind shook out his ruffled pelt to show just how unbothered he was by his inability to ascend the fence, licking his fur a couple of times for good measure. "I would have made it eventually," he said coolly.

"Of course you would have," she agreed warmly.

"Besides," he went on, "it's not as if I'll ever have to do it again after today, so what does it matter?"

"It doesn't."

"That's right; it doesn't." As if just noticing her presence, he glanced at her sideways, eying her severely. "Still…" he allowed slowly, "I wouldn't like for the others to hear about this. It's quite unlikely that my companions should hear of it, but… well, let's just say that it wouldn't be good for my image—our images—should your kittypet kind know about it, either."

Lily's tail tip passed over her muzzle. "My jaws are sealed," she promised. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Right, then." Inwardly relieved, Wind turned back to the matter of business. "You said this place had catmint."

"Oh, yes—right over here." Wind followed Lily across the lawn and into the garden. As she pulled up the catmint he requested, he glanced around the yard, suddenly realizing,

"This is your camp."

"Camp?" Tug, rip, pile.

"Den."

"Den? Oh, house, yes, it is. I live here with my housefolk." Tug, rip, pile.

"Housefolk?"

"Mmhm. She's getting on in her years, but she still gets around quite well." Tug, rip, pile.

"You live here alone? Just the two of you?"

"Mmhm." Tug, rip, pile. Lily stood back. "There. That should be enough for you to take back, and there's still some here in case it's not." She stepped back so that he could pick up the herbs; he took them, then stood back, suddenly feeling quite awkward in the silence that followed.

"Thank you," he mumbled around the catmint; the words came out garbled.

"Hm?"

He put down the herbs. "I said, thank you."

"Oh. Well. No problem. It was my pleasure." Silence, then, on his part,

"I'd best be on my way. My companions will be wondering where I've gotten to."

"Yes, mine too." Silence, then, "If you'd like, I can bring those over to the other side of the fence, if you'd like to try again."

Though offensive in implication, reminding him of his failure to climb the fence with ease, Wind knew that she didn't mean her words to offend, and found himself saying, "Yes, thank you—I would. Like to try again, I mean. And not damage the plants." He watched as she picked up the catmint, raced over to the fence, and gracefully ascended it, without slowing or hesitating. When she disappeared over the other side, he turned to face his obstacle. Though his ascent was a great deal more sloppy, he did manage to haul himself up to the top then, trembling from the attempt, jumped weakly down to the ground, landing on shaky, but nevertheless four, paws. He was pleased to see that Lily was smiling.

"Thank you," he said, "again. For everything. My friends and I thank you."

"You and your friends are welcome," she answered as he picked up the catmint, "for everything."

He dipped his head to her, and she watched as he turned and sauntered down the alleyway. Then, suddenly,

"Good-bye, Wind!" she called after him. "Good-bye, and good luck!"

She couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw him wave his tail in reply before he broke first into a trot and then, a steady run. She watched as he turned left at the corner, heading south the same way they had come, and disappeared from sight. Then she herself turned and headed back to the park.


	2. Chapter 2

Pike watched his brother emerge from Moth's den, his pelt prickling with anxiety. He counted to three before approaching him so as to avoid seeming overly curious about the particulars about Wind's meeting with their medic.

"What did she want to see you about?" Pike asked as Wind neared him, falling into step with his brother as Wind passed him without slowing.

"She wants me to go and bring her back more catmint."

"From the kittypets?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Pike was incredulous. "You only went a couple suns ago, and you brought back plenty of catmint then! Certainly enough to last us through leaf-bare."

"Moth wants to try transplanting some shoots, and she wants to keep what I brought her the other day for her store. Therefore, she needs new ones if she's going to have some to plant."

"So why doesn't she send someone else?"

"Because I already know where to find them," Wind answered his brother patiently as they stopped beside the fresh-kill pile.

Pike glanced up at his brother, who did not seem at all bothered by the task he had been given and was more intent on selecting his meal. "I can go instead, if you want," he offered, studying his brother carefully. "I'm good with directions."

"Why would you do that?" Wind withdrew a plump finch from amongst the rest of the day's catches and dropped it at his paws.

"So you don't have to. If it's just this once, I don't mind going."

"What makes you think I do?" Wind was looking at him strangely. When Pike didn't answer, his brother picked up his bird and retreated towards the edge of camp. Not wanting to irritate his brother, Pike didn't pursue him or their conversation any further. But that didn't stop Pike from wondering. Ever since Wind had returned from his foray into kittypet territory, about which he had offered little but the herbs he had been sent to collect, Wind had been different. Pike couldn't quite put his paw on it. Wind looked the same, acted the same, and, prior to this most recent conversation, talked the same—but he was different. A mouse-brain could deduce that the reason for Wind's behavior stemmed from his time in kittypet territory—what the root of the actually was, however, Pike couldn't fathom. But he had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to find out.


	3. Chapter 3

Lily was surprised—but pleasantly so—to see Wind again at all, never mind so soon.

It was just a mere three days after their first encounter. She was at the park again, as usual, with Jink and Maudie, doing her best to ignore the furtive and not-so-furtive glances and the hushed whispers and not-so-hushed whispers that had been swirling around her ever since she had returned to the park the other day after her "shameful escapade" with the "wild cat."

"Do they ever tire of it?" Maudie didn't have to clarify what "it" meant; for whenever Lily looked around, countless gazes averted themselves; every time she pricked her ears, countless voices lowered themselves, though there was no point to it anymore.

"After three red marks, one would think," Jink observed dryly, "that there would be nothing more to speculate. But of course, that's never the case."

"Not while Tinsel's around," Maudie agreed darkly. "She's not likely to turn down this golden opportunity to stir up trouble where there is none. She's probably forgotten all about Livia's predicament and is inventing one for Lily." Lily stiffened, and Maudie, remembering herself, ducked her head in embarrassment. "Sorry, Lil. I didn't mean for it to come out that way."

"No, it's quite all right, Maudie; you're probably right. But I don't care." Lily tossed her head carelessly. "I don't care what they say because they can't say anything. They weren't there. And if they don't believe me when I say that nothing bad happened, then that's their problem, not mine. Because I know the truth." Her voice softened. "I know that beyond the roughness he first conveyed, there was a sincere, kind-hearted cat, devoted and true to his kind. I know that behind his foreign, so-called 'wild' ways, there was a cat not so different from the rest of us." Lily shook her head. "But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what they say. It'll all die down soon enough when everyone tires of it or something newer and more exciting comes along to gossip about. And besides, it's not as if I'll ever see him again."

Maudie smiled at her friend, but Jink stiffened. "I wouldn't be so sure about that," he said. "There he is now."

Following his gaze, Lily turned. Jink was right—Wind was back! He was pacing back and forth at the edge of the park, between the two lines of trees at either end of it. As she watched him, he seemed to look her way, then sat down, tail lashing, as if waiting. She glanced back at her friends. Maudie's eyes were wide, Jink's narrowed.

"I don't know why he's back," Lily said slowly, "but I'll go find out what he needs. It'll just take a moment." Without a second thought, she sprang down from the wall.

"Lily!" She glanced back over her shoulder at Jink. "Be careful," he said softly.

She smiled. "I'll be fine."

Jink sat back, watching as she turned and bounded eagerly away. "That's what I'm afraid of."

As Lily approached, Wind stood and quit the park, turning onto the road. She followed him, catching up with him quickly.

"I didn't think you would be coming back," she commented as she fell in beside him.

"I didn't, either."

"Then why are you here? Was something wrong with the catmint?"

"The catmint was fine," he assured her. "In fact, that's the reason I'm back. Moth wants more of it."

"Moth?"

"Our medic."

"Medic?"

"That is her rank," Wind explained patiently.

"But what is a medic?"

"One who learns the ways of healing in order to care for the sick and injured."

"Oh… Why does she want more catmint?"

"Because she wishes to try to plant it so that we might grow our own and not have to rely on yours. So that it is close at paw and we don't have to leave our territory for it. And she wants a large stock of it. She fears a cold leaf-bare."

"Leaf-bare?"

"The season of cold and snow, when all leaves have abandoned the trees and the trees are, thus, bare of leaves."

"Oh." Lily fell quiet, pondering all that he had said. Then, "You mentioned rank. Do all of your kind have a rank?"

"Of course; that is the point of having them."

"What is your rank?"

Wind stood a little taller, lifting his chin. "I am general of the rogues, second-in-command under Fox, our commander—our leader."

"I—I had no idea—Wind, that's magnificent!" Wind ducked his head, but she could see that he was smiling. "We don't really have a leader here," Lily continued, "but, then again, I don't suppose we really need one. If your leader—your commander—dies, does that mean you take over?"

Wind nodded. "Fox is a strong leader, though," he added. "I'm not likely to succeed him—I'll probably die before he does. And if I ever were to become leader, I don't know that I could ever match up to him."

"Well, I think you'd be a fine leader of your—of the rogues," Lily declared.

He considered her sideways; she held his gaze, and he knew she spoke sincerely. "Thank you," he replied quietly.

They went on in silence, plodding up the road. Lily wondered why he wasn't in more of a hurry, but she decided not to ask him for fear that he might decide to be. And so she said nothing, and they continued on at a leisurely pace.

At one of many intersections, however, Wind stopped suddenly. "What is it?" Lily asked him.

He did not look at her, glancing instead down the adjoining road. "I know I know next to nothing of your paths here… but would it not be quicker if you instead took these smaller paths on a more direct route to your den-house? This path does not run straight; it deviates, veering outward and out of the way before resuming its original direction."

Lily shifted uncomfortably on her paws. "Well, yes, it would, but—" But Wind had already started off down the path to investigate his theory, leaving Lily little choice but to follow; she did so uneasily.

Wind continued on, oblivious to her discomfort, and though he had never before walked these paths, he unwittingly took the right ones; for he knew the direction he was headed, and thus took the paths that would take him there accordingly.

But they reached a point where Lily found it absolutely necessary to speak out, when Wind was about to make a turn down a narrow alleyway.

"Look, Wind, wait—I don't think we should go down there—"

He stopped and turned to look at her. "Whyever not?"

Lily shuffled her paws. "Because we can't."

"Who says?"

Lily lowered her gaze, avoiding his, for she had the faintest impression that he was laughing at her; she had seen it in his eyes. "Ray and his gang," she mumbled, absently sweeping her tail across the ground.

Wind's gaze looked from her tail to her. "And you're going to let a bunch of kittypets tell you what to do?"

Lily shrugged, still refusing to meet his eye.

"I should think that by sheer numbers alone you and your kittypet companions should be able to overcome these bullies." Lily didn't answer, and Wind growled. "Well, I for one refuse to let myself be pushed around by some self-important and self-proclaimed kittypet leader and his minions. I could not keep my honor as one of the rogues or call myself their general if I did." With that, he abruptly turned and strode into the alley. Lily moaned inwardly, but knowing she could not live with herself if she let him go in there and face Ray and his gang alone, hurried after him.

Wind padded slowly down the alleyway, his head high and his movements sure. Lily followed closely after, stopping every so often to glance quickly about her before scampering to keep up.

They made it about three-quarters of the way through before they ran into trouble. Lily was just starting to relax and think that perhaps Ray had abandoned his turf or, at the very least, neglected it for the day when first a shadow and then its owner, a large orange tabby tom, appeared on the ground before Wind.

"Well, well, well. And what have we here?" the tom asked, a snarl curling his lips.

"Two passersby seeking to tread this path," Wind replied, undaunted.

"Two trespassers, more like."

"Trespassers? That's funny. I thought for one to be a trespasser, he would have to be on another's territory."

"This is my territory."

"And you are…?"

"Ray."

"A pleasure. _Your_ territory, is it, Ray? And what makes it so?"

The other cat bared his teeth. "_I _make it so." Then, smiling maliciously, he gestured with his tail to the cats who had quietly come up around them, standing on crates and boxes beside them and on the ground behind them. "_We _make it so."

"Wind…" Lily whispered, shrinking back beside him. But Wind smiled pleasantly back at Ray.

"I don't see what gives you the authority to make it so."

"And I don't see what gives you the authority to say otherwise," Ray snapped back, eyes narrowing. "You're no housecat I've ever seen around here."

"I am Wind, general of the rogues of the forest and self-appointed spokescat for the kittypets of this village."

_A wild cat_. Around them, the realization sank in and spread in hushed whispers. Even Ray seemed fazed by the revelation. But he quickly regained his composure, even going so far as to laugh. "And you obviously have so much support from those you claim to represent. Look, I think she's _quaking_." Ray's face hardened. "Your words have no weight here, _Wind_."

"Perhaps not," Wind replied casually. "But I'd imagine _these_ do." He unsheathed his claws, flexing them so that they gleamed even amongst the shadows of the alley.

"Wind…" Lily whispered.

"Have it your way, then." Ray unsheathed his claws, as did the cats surrounding them. "If you want a fight, you shall have it." With a snarl, he rushed at Wind.

But Wind was ready. Sidestepping Ray, he delivered a series of blows to Ray's flank, nimbly darting out of range when Ray took a sideswipe at him. Ray's followers moved to help their leader, but he halted them with a lash of his tail. He and Wind circled one another, one with bared fangs and narrowed eyes, the other wearing a provocative smile.

Once again Ray flew at Wind, but Wind again outmaneuvered him, striking little but gaining the high ground, for he outmatched his opponent in skill, practice, and experience. Faced with poor odds, Ray did not move to stop his gang as they again moved to help their leader.

Wind fought with incredible alacrity and alarming ferocity, but he was sorely outnumbered, for he fought alone. Lily had slowly backed out of the fray; for, in her defense, she had never before fought and had no training in fighting, and she feared that should she try to assist Wind, she might only hinder him, whether by getting in his way or distracting him or being a sitting duck for him to have to try to protect.

But she knew she had to help him _somehow_; she couldn't let him stand against Ray and the gang alone, even if he had to fight them alone. She sprang up onto one of many crates that lined the buildings on either side of the alley, trying to get a better view of the melee. There she found her niche—literally. There was a gap between one stacked crate and the brick wall beside it; slipping first her head into the space, she wormed her whole body into it, shouldering the crate beside her to the edge of the crate below it and shoving it over the brink—and then ducking behind another crate to hide.

Her action had the desired affect. The box crushed several cats and scattered numerous others, reducing the opposition significantly and giving Wind, who fought from the opposite edge of the skirmish, a lasting advantage.

It took only one more crate to provide Wind with the edge he needed to bring the fight to an end and send Ray running. She watched her own victims pull themselves out from beneath the crates and waited until the last cat had sped down the alley and disappeared before leaping down from her perch, feeling quite pleased with herself, overall. Her smile vanished, however, when she saw the scratches Wind was licking on his pelt, and she rushed over to his side.

"Wind! Are you all right?" Her concern was wasted on him. Wind whirled around to face her, growling.

"What was that?" he demanded.

"What—what was what?" Lily shrank under his fierce glare.

"You, backing out of the fight and just _standing _there! Why didn't you fight?"

"I—I don't know how to fight—"

"You're a cat, aren't you? You have fangs and claws, don't you? Use them, for goodness sakes!" Wind snapped.

Lily lowered her eyes, now more embarrassed than frightened. "I…don't have any claws."

Wind's gaze fell to her paws. "Oh." He fell silent. Then, awkwardly, "That was good, what you did there, with the—those—"

"Crates."

"Yes, the crates."

"Thank you." Her gratitude was warm and genuine, assuring Wind that she forgave him for the harshness of his words. "I just hope I didn't hurt any of them too much," she added earnestly, following Wind as he picked up his paws and started down the alley.

"You gave them what was due them. They committed a wrong against you and your companions; it was up to us to punish them for their behavior. "

"But I shouldn't have liked to kill them. No crime should be punished with death."

"No," Wind agreed. "The injuries they now nurse, the shame they now carry, and the memories of today will be punishment enough, I think." He paused, then quietly, added, "I could teach you, if you want. To fight, I mean. It's a valuable skill to have, in any case. Even if you've never had cause to in the past, you never know when you might need to be able to defend yourself."

Realizing he couldn't see her anymore, Wind turned around. Lily had stopped and was looking down at her paws. She glanced up at him. "Do you really think I could learn how to fight even…even without my claws?" she asked haltingly.

Wind stepped forward and gently, reassuringly, touched his nose to hers. "I don't think you can. I know you can. A cat doesn't need claws to do damage or defend himself. You can land some hard blows with your paws and wits alone. You've already proved that much." Favoring her with a crooked grin, Wind turned and started back down the alley.

A faint smile on her own muzzle now, Lily fell into step beside him. They proceeded in silence until they reached her garden. Wind's encounter with the fence was less of a struggle this time. He collected the requested catmint, then headed back the way they had come. Lily accompanied him all the way to the edge of town, where, after Wind assured her again multiple times that his wounds weren't as bad as they looked and that he would find an excuse for them and his extended absence, they departed; each went his and her own separate way, Wind to the forest and the rogues, and Lily, to the park and those who awaited her there.


	4. Chapter 4

Pike was entering camp, two squirrels dangling from his jaws, when he saw Wind exiting Moth's den. Depositing his catches on the fresh-kill pile, he made his way across camp towards the black and white tom. Wind smiled at the sight of his brother's approach, but his smile slipped from his muzzle as his saw his brother's face darken, for Pike's gaze had fallen on the scratches that haphazardly crossed Wind's side. No greeting passed Pike's muzzle as he roughly steered his brother towards the camp entrance.

"Whoa, Pike, hold on there." He grinned at his brother, but Pike would have none of it, and so Wind put his grin away.

"We need to talk," Pike growled through gritted teeth.

"Look, I'm a little tired. Can't we talk about this—whatever this is—later?"

"Humor me."

"Do we really have to leave camp? Can't we talk here?"

Pike didn't answer, but at least he had the decency to stop prodding Wind's side which was, as of yet, still sore. So Wind did humor his brother, allowing him to take him out into the forest a little ways.

When they finally stopped, Pike scented the area, scanning it in all directions, but he caught neither sight nor scent of anyone; they were alone. And so he turned on his brother.

"Where did you get those scratches?" he demanded.

Wind was taken aback, but he answered his brother. "I scratched myself on some brambles. I told Moth not to bother with herbs, since they'll heal quickly and it would be a waste of her resources. Why?"

Pike ignored his question. "If you had gotten them getting the catmint, you would have gotten them last time, too. And you know this territory better than anyone, so you couldn't have gotten them here."

"The catmint obscured my vision while I was carrying it. I couldn't see where I was going."

"Don't lie to me! I'm not stupid, so don't treat me as if I am!" Pike snapped.

Wind held his brother's gaze evenly, but Pike did not back down, and so Wind sighed in resignation. "I had a run-in."

Pike snorted. "With a kittypet?"

"Yes. A ruffian."

His brother seemed to be serious; he spoke with all sincerity. And while Wind had lied before, Pike knew that he wouldn't lie once he had been found out. Pike narrowed his eyes. "How many of them were there, really? You're one of the best fighters we have. A simple kittypet, no matter how rough, couldn't have laid that many claws on you."

Wind tilted his head, squinting his eyes as though trying to block out the sun, except it was at his back. "I don't know. There were enough of them. The number doesn't matter."

"I'll tell you if it matters. But what I want to know is, _why did it happen!_"

Wind was silent. He didn't meet his brother's gaze. Pike growled.

"Tell me!"

Wind turned his head, looking his brother in the eye. He set his jaw, but he answered his brother coolly. "I was helping one of the kittypets. Well, all of them, real—"

"You were _helping_ them_? _ You _went out of your way_ for a _KITTYPET_?"

"She went out of her way for me! It was only right that I return the favor, and—"

"You interacted with a _kittypet_? You let a _kittypet_ help _you_? Why, Wind? _Why_? All you had to do was get the catmint and leave! There was nothing in the job description about fraternizing with _kittypets_!"

Wind growled. "That's what I was doing—getting the catmint! Lily was just helping me, and I—"

Pike was aghast. "_Lily_? You know her _name_?"

"WILL YOU LET ME SPEAK?"

Pike's jaws hung open; he conscientiously shut them. Wind was on his paws now. The forest around them trembled at the thunder in his roar, the lightning in his green eyes, the air quaking and ferns shaking, all cowering beneath his anger. When all was still and silent again, Wind spoke, his voice tempered, his gaze extinguished. "The catmint was not where Moth told me it would be. I was offered help by a kittypet, Lily, and I took it because I felt that in this case, the ends justified the means. I don't think even you can argue with that."

Pike didn't answer; his silence spoke for him, and so Wind continued. "I didn't think Fox—or any of the others, for that matter—would like that, so I didn't tell them. It wasn't as if I'd be going back, or so I thought until Moth asked me to. When I went back, I didn't feel right about just taking the catmint after Lily had been so helpful and generous before, so I let her take me back. I wanted to take a shorter route. Turns out that some kittypets aren't as complacent as others, so we had a scrap with them, I fetched the herbs, and I came back. End of story. Now, if you'll excuse me, my paws are about ready to fall off, and I'd just as soon be in my nest when they do."

Without another word, Wind turned sharply and plunged into the undergrowth. Pike watched him go. His brother's answer had satisfied him, yes, in the sense that he knew his brother was speaking the truth. But was it the whole truth? Pike doubted it. He had never seen Wind so angry—he had known his brother to _be_ so angry, but Wind was good at controlling it. And if that was all there was to it, why had he tried to hide it from Pike in the first place? Why had he been so defensive about it? It was true what Wind had said about the others not liking it—Fox wouldn't be pleased. But surely Wind knew he could trust his brother?

No, Pike was sure there was more to this than what Wind had said. But, he thought as he headed back to camp himself, surely this was, as Wind had said, the end of the story. It had to be. And Pike contented himself with thinking as much.


	5. Chapter 5

Wind visited Lily again, and again, and again, with surprising regularity, though his visits became more and more infrequent as the season of falling leaves turned into the season of falling snow. And, as promised, he taught her how to fight, to defend herself should she ever need to. Since they never knew exactly when he would come, by unspoken arrangement, he would meet her at the park as he had the first two times she had seen him; he would sit at the edge of the lawn until she spotted and joined him—which rarely took long, for she was always on the watch—and together, they would leave the park and head to her garden.

Once or twice, Lily had invited him to come to the wall, to meet her friends, but he didn't take her up on her offer then, or ever. "Maybe another time," he said. But that time never came, and she soon dropped the matter. She had also suggested on a separate occasion that they hold their lessons in the park—there was more room there, she had explained, and then, if any of the others should want to, they could also partake in Wind's lessons. But he didn't have to answer for her to know that that wouldn't happen; she could see it in the tightening of his jaw, in his cursory glance back at the cats milling about the wall.

And once, she had teased him for hanging about the outskirts of the park to wait for her rather than coming to get her himself. "I never thought the general of the rogues would be afraid of a few housecats," she had jested. But she had seen the flashes, first of anger, then sorrow, and finally discomfort, that had crossed his gaze, and she had chastised herself for even suggesting it.

So she abandoned any and all attempts to integrate Wind into her society. Which was fine with Lily, really, for despite the fact that Lily doubted she'd ever have cause to use the new skills she was learning, she enjoyed their private sessions together. And perhaps it was selfish of her, but Lily was glad that that it was just that—private, that it was just the two of them, that she didn't have to share his time and company, precious as they were, with anyone else, not Jink, not Maudie, not anyone.

And precious his time and company were, for they were also increasingly sparse as the snows began to fall. It was harder for him to get away; his presence and paws were needed in the forest to help guide and feed the rogues, and the snow made it easier for him to be tracked and followed. Wind had never said outright that what he was doing was forbidden in the code of the rogues, but she had gathered as much. The covertness, sparsity, and brevity of his visits, the solemnity in his eyes whenever he spoke of his kind—it all added up. And it made the times she spent with him ever more precious, for she never knew when a visit may be his last, when he would have to cut his ties with her for his own sake.

Because they would never have to do it for her sake; that much she could be certain of. She knew that the others talked of them, that Tinsel relished every appearance Wind made, that Jink and Maudie, but especially Jink, worried about her. But she didn't care. Because she was happy, and Wind, as far as she could tell, was happy, too. And that was all that mattered. That was all she cared about.

So she was glad when the season of falling snows passed and with it, the risk that Wind's visits would be discovered and that their precious time together would have to come to an end. Because she did not know what she would do should that happen. She had lived most of her life without Wind, but now that he was a part of her life… It did not do to dwell on it, for she did not know what she would do. And she did not care to find out.

She was relieved, then, when the snows cleared to make way for the rains that now fell often and with abandon and Wind appeared one day at the edge of the park. The sky was bright and the day, sunny, but that meant little; in this season, the weather could change in an instant.

But today was bright and sunny, made brighter and sunnier still to Lily when she spotted Wind entering the park, watching as he sat down in his usual spot. Bidding her hasty goodbyes, Lily sprang down from the wall, trying to contain her excitement as she crossed the lawn. Her joy got the better of her, however, and she broke into a run, grinning as she slid to a stop before Wind, who, she saw, couldn't refrain from smiling himself.

Lily didn't look back as they left the park. She knew countless eyes were watching her, but no number of disapproving stares could crush her mood now as she trotted, fairly padding on air, beside Wind.

They talked a little as they made their way to her back garden, she describing a few of the more interesting events and least petty arguments that had transpired in the village since she had seen him last, and he answering her questions on the happenings that had colored his life during his absence.

When they reached her garden, they fell into their usual training routine. Lily was surprised, however, when Wind cut it short.

"What are we stopping for?" she asked. Had she done something wrong? Her gut twisted at the thought.

Wind smiled. "You've been practicing, haven't you?" Lily nodded slowly. "I can tell. You've improved. And to be honest, I don't know that there's anything more that I can teach you."

Lily gaped. "I don't believe you."

Wind laughed and sat, curling his tail around his paws. "I'm serious. You fight just as well as any rogue."

"Without claws, you mean."

"Yes. But a cat who can fight well without claws is worth more than one who can't fight well _with _them." Lily ducked her head, fully aware of the value of his praise.

"Lily—" Wind began, then fell silent. She glanced up at him.

"What is it?"

"Never mind. It's stupid."

"No—Wind—"

"I was just wondering… Why don't you have claws?"

Lily looked down at her paws. She had never felt the absence of her claws before, not until Wind came along. "They were removed—cut off—when I was a kit," she replied.

"Why?" Wind's eyes were wide, surprised, and tinged with disbelief.

"Why? Because my housefolk at the time wanted it. Most housefolk do; they feel it's practical so that our claws don't hurt them or their belongings. So my claws were removed; but then my present housefolk adopted me and brought me here, where I spend most of my time outside. It's potentially dangerous and certainly unfortunate, yes, but fortunately, I haven't had a need for claws here." She smiled. "And now, thanks to you, I can defend myself well enough without them." She tilted her head. "How did you learn how to fight, anyway? I mean, obviously somecat taught you, but…"

"Much as I taught you, each rogue, each trainee, called a junior, is taught how to fight by a trainer, an older rogue who has already completed his or her training, called a senior. When a kit is about, oh, five or six moons, he or she is assigned to a senior and trained until fit to become one him- or herself. Such is how the Clans—you remember, I've told you about the Clans—do it, as well."

"Who was your teacher—your senior?"

Wind stood, stretching his legs and looking about the garden. "Fox."

Lily looked up at him, tail twitching. "Wind… What's Fox like? You never talk about him. You've told me about the others—Pike, and Aspen, and Wish, and Moth, and everyone—but what about Fox? Why don't you ever talk about him?"

Wind hesitated, then strode forward toward a patch of tall flowers. "What kind of flowers are these?" he asked.

"Irises."

"They're beautiful."

"Wind…"

"Why do you want to know?" he asked sharply, bristling. "What does it matter, anyway?"

"I was just curious… But it doesn't matter."

He glanced back at her, his fur lying flat as he released a long sigh, averting his gaze away. "He's a strong leader."

"A good leader?"

"A strong leader…and a hard cat. And he has grown harder with age."

"Is that good? For him to be… hard?"

He looked back at her. "The leader of the rogues must be hard in order to withstand all that is thrown upon him."

Lily nodded, cocking her head and meeting his gaze. "And what about you, Wind? Will you be hard when you become leader?"

"_If_ I become leader—" Wind answered slowly, pensively, "I suppose I will have to be, to some degree."

"Like Fox?"

Wind hesitated, then shook his head slowly. "No. Not like Fox."

Lily herself hesitated then, but steeling herself, ventured forward regardless of the risk. "Wind… why _don't_ you ever talk about him? Are you—are you ashamed of him? Fox, I mean. Is he a bad leader?"

She saw him stiffen, his figure hardening almost instinctively, but then he relaxed, resigned, accepting the inevitable—that Lily would pry it from him eventually. "No. No, not a bad leader. But _my_ leader, to whom I have sworn loyalty and obedience."

"Is that why—"

"Why I prefer not to speak of Fox? Yes, I suppose so."

"But _why_? If he's not a bad leader, then I should think you should like others to think as well of him as you do."

"He is my _leader_, Lily. I have sworn my allegiance to him twice, once when I became a senior, and once when I became general. I swore to uphold his honor, to not question him but do as he bid me. If I am not to question and judge his actions, then how can I consciously let others do it instead?"

"You think that I—"

"It is inevitable, Lily. It is impossible not to judge, to question, to not understand one who is so different from you as Fox—or as I am. You cannot understand his ways; I do not expect you to."

"But I don't understand—what if Fox _is_ doing something wrong? What if he _was_ a bad leader? Wouldn't it be your duty to question him, to stand up to him? You would be doing the rogues a disservice if you, as general, did not, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," Wind answered quietly, "but I should not do so publicly, for all that. I should not reprimand him for all to see. For he would be more likely to realize his mistake if he was not forced to face public humiliation at the same time. And if he comes to realization…maybe that means he can find redemption, too."

"I still don't see why—"

"Why I don't want to talk about him? Why I don't laud him? Why don't I speak of him with pride?"

"Yes."

Wind hardly heard her response, so soft was it. Realizing that his voice had risen in volume and intensity, he consciously lowered it, speaking softly, gently. "Nothing in this world is black and white, Lily."

"Except you."

Wind smiled wryly. "Yes. But what I mean, Lily, is that the world is complicated. _Cats_ are complicated. They can't be classified into categories of good and bad.

"Fox isn't a great leader, Lily. He's not a terrible leader, either. He just _is_, and always has been. He's only feline; he has his strengths, and he has his weaknesses. And I know that that goes for anycat," he added quickly as Lily opened her jaws to speak, "and I know that you know that. But regardless… I don't want you to think any less of him. Or of us—of the rogues."

"Wind…" Lily stood, stepping forward to tenderly touch her nose to his and drawing back, meeting his gaze steadily. "I could no more think less of your companions than I could my own, however different they and their ways may be, because they are _your_ companions."

"You mean that?"

"Of course." She smiled.

"Because I was hoping, well, maybe someday…when I'm—if I'm leader…"

"Wind—"

"…that maybe my companions could become your companions. That you would join us. The rogues."

"Wind—"

"No, forget it. I shouldn't have asked." Wind stepped away.

"Wind…" Lily stepped toward him. "Is this why—"

"Why I care what you think of them? Yes."

Lily lowered her head. "But, of course, they would never hear of such a thing now, while Fox is in charge," she mused, "because Fox himself wouldn't."

"No."

She lifted her chin. His gaze was averted, but it slowly turned to meet hers. "But why would they accept me when you're commander as opposed to now, when Fox is? _Would_ they even accept me?"

"With time, they would. They're good cats. Their hearts are not as hard as rock," he insisted.

"No, not all. Just most," Lily rejoined shrewdly.

"You don't want to come."

"It's not that I don't _want_ to, Wind; it's that I don't know if I should. If I would belong. If I would be accepted." Her voice softened. "And it's not just me we have to consider—what about you? How would their views of you change? Their loyalties? If I can't join you now, if Fox wouldn't let me, it must be against the nature of the rogues—against their code. What would your companions think of you because of me? How would they see you, their commander?"

"They would see that he has a heart."

Despite herself, Lily smiled, though it was weak, almost sad. "Is that good?"

"It's the best thing a leader can have."

"Wind…"

"Lily?"

Lily hesitated, searching her mind, searching her heart, looking for an answer, _the_ answer. She knew it was a decision that required good judgment, that shouldn't be rushed into; yet she couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency, of finality—that it was now or never. "In that case," she began slowly, "if you do indeed become commander of the rogues, Wind… I will come with you."

"You mean it—you really want to?"

And as Lily saw the bright hope, the profound joy that lit his eyes, she wanted nothing but that it might never leave. And it was then that she knew her answer, her decision, for certain. "Yes," she said. "I really do."

Lily couldn't help but laugh as Wind grinned, his eyes seeming to shine even brighter now, if that was possible; and she was fairly certain that her own must have mirrored the elation in his.

The sky itself also brightened at that moment, but only for a moment, as a streak of lightning flashed across the sky, the rumble of thunder filling the air moments later. For in the last few minutes, dark clouds had gathered overhead, pushed by strong winds who had already begun to buffet the village, shoving against houses, scouring roofs, twisting trees and flattening flowers.

Another thundering boom followed another bright flash; and then the rain began to fall, moderately at first, and Wind and Lily had just enough time to take shelter from the elements under the overhang over her back porch before it lapsed into a downpour.

"You can't go back in this!" Lily protested when Wind bade his farewell. "The storm will cover you the whole way. It's too dangerous."

"They'll be wondering where I am. If I'm not there soon—"

Another resounding crash of thunder drowned out the rest of his words, corroborating Lily's point.

"I suppose I'll just have to think of some excuse," Wind said gloomily, resigned.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. I'm sure I'll think of something. In the meantime, I'll just have to wait out this storm."

Looking about himself for someplace of relative comfort on which to lie and wait, Wind settled on a metal lawn chair, leaping onto its green-striped cushion and lying down there, resting his head on his paws.

After a moment of uncertainty and hesitation, Lily jumped up and curled up beside him, feeling safer and warmer than she had ever felt before.


	6. Chapter 6

Pike didn't want to believe it, not at first nor ever, but it wasn't long before he was certain his brother was making trips back and forth into kittypet territory. And it wasn't long, either, before he had to resign himself to the only explanation he could come with as to why: the kittypet called Lily.

He didn't understand it then, and he never would completely understand it, which is why he tried to stop his brother many, many times, even if it meant facing his brother's wrath. But while Wind never again became as incensed about the matter as he had that one day, he was surprisingly obstinate about his visits to kittypet. Despite Pike's many and frequent protestations, Wind continued to visit Lily.

"I don't get it, Wind. How could you just throw this all away?" Pike asked on one occasion. The two had been assigned to a hunting party together with Aspen and Wish, but Pike had quickly monopolized his brother's company, much to Aspen's annoyance and Wish's disappointment, forcing the party to split in half, toms and she-cats.

"All of what away?" Wind strode past his brother, who had stopped dead in his tracks to turn and face Wind.

"Everything!" Pike caught up to his brother.

"Meaning?"

"Well—the code, for starters. It's there for a reason, Wind! You've never been one to break the code. And safety. Someone's bound to find out about this, no matter how careful you are."

"From your loud mouth, they just might."

"And-and—well, it just defies all common sense, Wind!" He stopped beside Wind, who had paused to scent the air. "You've always been sensible. Where is this coming from? It makes no sense at all."

Wind glanced back at his brother, then resumed walking. "It makes perfect sense, Pike."

"Oh, really? Please, explain."

"I like her."

"See? It makes no sense!" Pike cried, exasperated. Wind shook his head, moving ahead of his brother. Pike stared after him, then furrowing his brow, plunged after Wind, leaping in front of him to halt him in his tracks. "And what about Wish?"

Wind, who had tensed up, his haunches rising as he confronted his brother, relaxed. He pushed past his brother. "What about Wish?"

"Can't you see how much she cares about you?"

Wind stopped. He swung his head back to look at Pike. "Pike, if she has any head on her shoulders, she'd see how much you care about her and not waste her time fawning after me."

"That's not the point. You're only going to hurt her if you keep this up."

"Keep what up?" Wind turned his whole body around so that he completely faced Pike.

"Traipsing about with this kittypet."

Wind shot him a withering look. "She has a name, Pike. Call her by it. And I've never given Wish any reason to believe that I care about her. You must know that."

Pike took a step forward towards his brother, then paused. "Wind… What do you see in this kitt—Lily, anyway? What makes her so special?"

Wind lowered his head, quiet, and when he finally spoke, he spoke quietly, too. "She's…she's different, Pike. She's _genuine_. She's not like anyone I've ever known. She's bold yet humble. She's eager to learn and willing to listen. She's sweet and gentle, but she's got just as much mettle as any of us rogues." He glanced at his brother sideways. "She wouldn't make a bad rogue, you know."

"Wind—"

Wind straightened. "Enough. You asked, and I answered. This conversation is over." And, as he would not speak any more on the matter that day, regardless of how much Pike pressed it, indeed, it was.

But the matter itself was far from closed. Pike never stopped bringing it up; he wouldn't let it drop—not until Wind promised to stop seeing the kittypet. And Pike kept employing new tactics to try to make that happen.

Once he even threatened to tell Fox about the affair if Wind did not put an end to it. But when Pike confronted his brother, Wind had shaken his head.

"You know you won't."

"I will, too," Pike avowed resolutely.

"No, you won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know you. You're my brother and you wouldn't turn me in to him—you wouldn't do that to me, however much you say you will. And, while you don't want him to know for my sake, you also don't want him to know for your own. You don't want him to know that you have known all about it and said nothing."

Wind was right, of course; he knew it, and he knew Pike knew it. Pike wouldn't tell Fox—he couldn't, and so he didn't.

On the contrary; if anything, he helped his brother, who had developed a number of viable excuses for his protracted disappearances so that when asked about one, he had an arsenal of reasons at his disposal. Wind would speak of quarries that had led him far into the field north of the forest, extensive hunts or border patrols, investigations of curious scents—he always had an explanation at the ready and, as he was as fine a hunter as he was everything else, contrived proof to back it up. When he went out one day and did not return until the morning after, he was able to attribute his failure to appear to the sudden and unexpected storm that had occurred that afternoon and stayed well into the evening; he said he had been hunting on the far end of the territory when the storm struck and had taken refuge where he first could find it to wait the storm out, and it was when he had woken up that morning that he realized it had passed. Stranger things had happened before to the rogues, and besides, this was Wind, their general—and so his story was accepted without question.

And Pike, when he could, corroborated Wind's accounts, saying he saw the chase or partook in the hunt or patrol or scented the obtrusive odor. Fortunately, because of his brother's overall carefulness and expediency, excuses were not always necessary, and as time went on, they became less so.

For leaf-bare soon rolled around to rear its snowy head, and as Wind's visits accordingly lessened and then stopped for a time, Pike soon began to hope that perhaps they would never resume. He would not, however, allow himself the satisfaction of feeling complete relief, for while he could certainly _hope_ that Wind would stop caring about the kittypet, if not forget about her entirely, he doubted that his brother would. Nothing indicated the realization of these hopes; Wind showed no interest in any other she-cat, continuing as he had before, and Pike, despite himself, began to resign himself to the fact that nothing would change his brother's mind—or his heart.

Newleaf followed leaf-bare, allowing her predecessor ample time to remove himself from the premises before she began to clear away the mess he left behind. Pike watched the proceedings wearily, knowing it was only a matter of time before his brother picked up where he had left off.

And the idea made Pike nervous, not just for obvious reasons, but also because he had the strong sensation that someone else was waiting for Wind to make a move, too. And while Pike knew he couldn't stop his brother and was no longer going to try, he knew he could warn him—and so he did, catching his brother alone one day in early newleaf.

"Look," he told his brother, glancing furtively from side to side, his ears pricked, his whole body alert, "I'm not going to tell you not to go—you know where—because I know you will no matter what I say, but Wind—you need to be more careful. Promise me you'll be more careful."

Wind blinked, creases forming around his eyes as he squinted at his brother. "Of course. But I'm always careful—you know that."

"Yes, you and your endless array of excuses. But you need to be _more _careful. I—I think Fox is having you watched. And I don't want you getting hurt. So promise. Promise me you'll be more careful."

Wind looked his brother in the eye, and he could see that Pike meant what he said, every word. "All right," he said finally. "I promise."


	7. Chapter 7

"I can't stay long today," were Wind's greeting words to Lily when she ran from the wall to meet him a little less than a paper turn after his last visit.

Lily was disappointed, but she did her best not to show it. "I'm sorry. Why not?"

Wind swept his tail over the pavement, not meeting her gaze. "I've been careless, and my companions—some of them—have grown suspicious. It's not safe."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." He looked up at her. "Besides, I don't regret it in the least."

This coaxed a smile from her.

"All the same, though, I can't stay," he went on. "In fact, I should head back now. I really only came so that you wouldn't worry. Since it's been so long, I thought you might. Worry, I mean."

She smiled. "I was a bit worried," she admitted, "so thank you. I'm glad you came, even if you can't stay. And I'll walk with you to the edge of the village."

And so they set off. As they plodded along, Wind noticed that Lily was walking more slowly than was her custom, and though he thought it might be from a wish to prolong their walk, he couldn't be positive, for she seemed out of sorts, less cheery than usual.

"So, Lily, how have you been?"

"Hm? Oh, I've been fine."

They both fell quiet, and seeing that he couldn't work his way around it, Wind asked her outright, "Lily, are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

"You just seem…out of sorts."

She smiled, but he wasn't convinced. "I've never been better. But…"

"But what?"

"I have a question." So that was what was bothering her.

"Okay, shoot."

Lily took a deep breath. "You know how you told me that if I came to live with you, your friends would accept me? That, given time, they might come to see my presence in a more favorable light?"

His heart sank. Was she reconsidering her answer? "Yes."

She looked down at her paws. "Well, I was just wondering…" She paused, then glanced up at him. "Do you think they would accept my kits as well?"

Wind started, stopped midstep, and stared at her. "Your…kits?"

Lily turned to look back at him, her gaze fluttering away from then back to his face. "Well, _our_ kits."

"_Our_ kits?"

Lily frowned slightly. "That's what I said, isn't it?"

Wind didn't hear her. His mind was abuzz, his tongue numb as he tried to think, to form the words. "Kits. Our kits. My kits." He looked up at her, his eyes widening. "I'm a—"

"—father, yes." She shifted uncomfortably on her paws, glancing at him uncertainly. "And that's…good?"

He looked at her then with new eyes, as though suddenly realizing she was there. He could see doubt—even a trace of fear—and apprehension in her face, and he sought then to banish it, to share his joy with her.

"It's wonderful," he replied firmly, smiling and resting his muzzle on top of her head. And though he could not see it, he could feel the warmth of her smile.


	8. Chapter 8

While Wind walked on air, Pike was unable to share in his brother's joy. He did not know what had made Wind so uncharacteristically cheerful—while seldom in a bad mood, Wind rarely exuded positivity the way he did now—and he did not ask; he was more concerned with watching those who were watching Wind, and whether by chance or design, Pike could not find a minute alone with his brother.

He had pegged a likely candidate for Fox's spy, a tom named Haddock who had appeared to be a contender for the position of general at the time Wind was chosen, and while it wasn't much, Pike did all he could do to sabotage the rogue's efforts, distracting him from surveillance when possible and even going so far as to dampen Wind's mood with a passing frown here, a passing glare there. And he was successful on both accounts, but alas, it was not Wind's disposition around which Haddock based his case, and no concealment of joy would change Wind's fate.

It struck in one fell swoop seven suns after Wind's last excursion. Why it waited seven suns, Pike would never know. But seven suns later, Fox called the rogues together. Pike had not yet allowed himself the luxury of complacency; whenever he saw Fox, whenever he heard him speak, no matter whom to, Pike felt a knot tie and lodge itself in his chest.

And so it did now, a knot so tightly wrapped he feared he wouldn't be able to breathe. He wondered how long he would have to wait, how long Fox would draw this out; but he didn't wonder long, for Fox didn't wait long. Fox only waited until all was quiet and still before he spoke, his eyes gleaming.

"Friends," he began, "I have gathered you here today because, my friends, you deserve to know the truth." The knot in Pike's chest constricted, driving all the air from his body. Fox, on the other hand, had never looked more alive as he pranced back and forth. "The truth, you say? What do you mean, Fox?" their commander threw his voice mockingly. "My dear friends, it has come to my attention that one of us has been lying to the rest… Isn't that right, Wind?"

Eyes widened, jaws parted, and heads turned to look at their general, who kept his eyes trained evenly on Fox, who went on, continuing his performance.

"It seems to me that you, my friends, deserve better than lies. It seems to me that you deserve the truth. And the truth will out, won't it, Wind?" Fox stopped, turning to his general and leaning in to look him in the eye. Wind met his gaze calmly, but Pike felt sick. "Shall you tell them, or will I?" Wind lowered his gaze and didn't answer, and Fox cocked his head. "So when _were_ you planning to tell them?"

Wind lifted his gaze, and Pike thought he saw his brother's jaw jut out a bit as he spoke quietly, almost inaudibly. "When they were ready to listen."

Fox smiled, withdrawing his head and stepping back to address the rogues as a whole. "It seems our beloved general has been living a lie—a lie heavily concealed in more lies, lies he has fed us, my friends, we who have believed in him, trusted him, held him in the utmost regard! What lie, you ask? What could he _possibly_ have done? I'll tell you, my dear, loyal friends."

Pike could hardly believe it; Fox was _enjoying _this, this lording over Wind. His audience, on the other hand, did not share their commander's eager, malicious glee as they sat more in fear and discomfort than bloodthirstiness and vindictiveness. As for Pike, a new knot had developed as ties clenched his heart, driving the blood from it as it strained against its ropes. Wind, however, though his gaze was downcast, remained calm, quiet. Waiting, as they all were—Pike in fear, their companions in unease, Fox in contrivance. But they did not have to wait long; Fox threw his words pointedly, like claws to pierce Wind, fangs to tear him.

"My friends…your general has been consorting with a _kittypet_." Fox's eyes glittered as he leaned forward. "Isn't that so, Wind?"

The crowd seemed to part around their general as eyes widened, jaws parted, heads turned to look at him, as if to discern the truth for themselves. To say that they did not believe it would be an understatement, yet—

"Do you deny it?" All eyes were on Wind. Pike would have held his breath if he had had any breath left to hold. _Lie, Wind, lie! They'll believe you._

Wind lifted his head. "Your words are harsh. But I will not deny the truth." A wave of gasps and murmurs rippled outwards from Wind, the epicenter, who merely blinked. "I do not regret what I have done, but I regret the pain it must cause you all and that I had to break our code to do it. I accept the due punishment, and I deliver myself into your paws for it."

The rogues looked from Wind to Fox, who narrowed his eyes.

"Is that so? You think it's that easy, do you? This is not just a matter of you breaking the code. This is a matter of you turning your back on us!" Fox snarled. "And for what—a _kittypet_?" Wind did not respond. Fox bared his fangs. "Stand up and face your commander! You call yourself a general? You're hardly even a rogue!"

Wind slowly got to his paws. Around him, the rogues shuffled backwards away from him as Fox began to circle him.

"You broke the code, you broke our trust, and all for what? A _kittypet_." He spat in Wind's face. Wind flinched but said nothing, and Fox snorted derisively. "Just look at you. What that _kittypet_ saw in you, I'll never know." Fox's lip curled in disgust.

"That's just it." The rogues collectively started as Wind spoke. The black and white tom raised his gaze slowly to meet his commander's as Fox passed in front of him. "You don't see. You can't see, because you won't. She does."

Although Fox did not change his stride, he stiffened noticeably; Pike saw his eyes narrow, his jaw harden, and a muscle in his cheek twitch in barely contained rage. "Listen to yourself! You love a _kittypet_ more than your own commander! Than your own rogues! You don't deserve to be called our general. You don't even deserve to be called a rogue! You're just as bad as that _kittypet_ of yours—no, _worse_." He cocked his head, angling it towards Wind, who sat still once again as his commander revolved around him. "You disagree? Then show me otherwise! Come on, show me!" Without warning, Fox struck Wind, cuffing the side of his head. Pike saw a flash of silver, and he gasped as he saw blood beading on his brother's cheek. But Wind neither acknowledged the attack nor retaliated, and the blood traced his jawline and fell to the ground unremarked. Wind's silence, however, only served to enrage Fox further.

"I…said…_show me_!" With surprising speed, Fox lunged at Wind, knocking him off his paws and slamming him to the ground. Without pause, Fox began to rake and slash at Wind's side, drawing blood with every move. And every move was made by Fox, for Wind lay still beneath his commander's claws, and the rest of the rogues were frozen in place.

Only their minds were active, but none was as active as Pike's, through which ran two words, one plea, to his brother: _Fight back fight back fight back!_ Why, oh _why_ didn't Wind fight back? _Fight back fight back fight back!_ Like an incantation, the words ran through his mind, but they had no effect on Wind; rather, it was Pike and the rogues who sat as though under a spell.

Aspen was the first to break free from it. As Fox drew back, panting, one paw raised, poised, as though considering where to strike next—the decision would be difficult, for Wind's entire side ran scarlet, his pelt slick and matted with blood—the golden and white she-cat dashed forward, placing herself between her commander on his paws and her general on the ground. "Enough, Fox!" Though her voice shook, she stood firm. "This needs to stop. You've made your point. Enough is _enough_."

For a moment, Fox just looked, looking from her face to Wind's, which was stricken but silent. He breathed heavily from his exertions, but he was not the only one short of breath, for Pike couldn't breathe, either.

But neither his exhaustion nor his conscience restrained Fox. With a sudden, piercing yowl, he shoved Aspen, who cried out and fell as his claws slashed her, to the side, breaking past her and lunging for Wind. "You are _dirt_!" he shrieked. "You are _dung_!" He tore his claws down the tears in Wind's side, sweeping them, gleaming with blood, at the rogues who, propelled into action, tried to stop him. "You—are—_DEAD_!" With a screech, he buried his fangs in Wind's throat.

Pike's spell was finally broken, but the other rogues had already fallen upon Fox, and they pulled him off of their general. Rage filled Pike's heart and lungs, fueling every cell in his body, and for a moment he wanted to do nothing more than sink his teeth into _Fox_'s throat, see how he liked it.

But only for a moment, for the moment ended as he heard someone cry his name, ended as the rogues conducted a screeching Fox away and Wind's body came into view. Pike forgot about Fox in a heartbeat; he rushed to his brother's side, which heaved with the strain of breathing. Wish was standing there, wide-eyed, looking up at Pike; it must have been she who had shouted. A lump formed in Pike's throat as he took in the sight. Blood stained Wind's fur like another set of patches, crimson amongst the black and white. His mind told him he needed to act, to get help, but his body wasn't listening. "Get help," he finally managed, but it came out weak, a whisper. Wish hesitated, her body just as reluctant to move as Pike's. "Get help!" he repeated, more strongly this time, urgently. She turned and fled.

"Pike." Pike started at the sound of Wind's voice, soft and unexpected amid the tumult around them. His brother was looking up at him, his head turned slightly for a better view, his upturned eye clouded but focused.

"Don't worry, Wind. Moth's coming. You're going to be okay. You're going to be fine." Pike almost choked on the words, which tasted like bile in his mouth. He shouldn't be saying this. He shouldn't have to be saying this.

"Pike." The word was tinged with warmth, and Pike's words of reassurance died on his tongue. He knew, then, that Wind wasn't going to be okay. He wasn't going to be fine. Wind knew it, and though he was touched by Pike's attempt to convince them both so, in that one word, he was telling Pike that he knew it wasn't going to be okay, and that he was okay with that.

Pike swallowed the lump. "What, Wind?" He could hear Moth's sharp voice telling cats to get out of her way, and before Wind could answer, she was at his side. Wish set the herbs Moth had run to assemble when Fox made his last move down beside her. Moth's jaws parted in a soundless gasp. Her gaze rose, meeting Pike's, and understanding passed between them. Lowering her head, she touched her muzzle to Wind's briefly, then, picking up her herbs, withdrew.

"Where are you going?" Wish cried after her. She turned to Pike. "Where's she going?" Pike ignored her; he knew as well as Wish did that she knew very well the answer. He crouched down beside his brother.

"What is it, Wind?" he asked softly.

Wind didn't respond right away. Pike watched his flank fight to rise and then quickly fall. When Wind finally spoke, Pike had to lean in to hear him. "Promise…promise me…you'll tell Lily… Tell her…I'm sorry…and…and that I know…know she'll understand." Wind lapsed into a brief silence as he struggled to find breath. "Promise me…promise you'll take care…of yourself…Wish…the others… Take care…of Lily…kits…"

Pike's brow rose in surprise, and yet, somehow he wasn't surprised. It explained—

"_Promise!_"Wind was fading fast. Pike shoved all other thoughts aside, bobbing his head.

"Yes, yes, Wind, I promise. Don't worry. I'll take care of everything."

Wind sighed, closing his eyes, relieved. His body convulsed suddenly, then lay still. Pike numbly lay down at his brother's side, pressing his muzzle into one of few unsullied patches in his brother's pelt, and closed his eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

Shortly after, Lily stopped going to the park. She could handle the furtive and not-so-furtive glances and the hushed whispers and not-so-hushed whispers, and she could deal with the fact that her name was now a household one, accompanied by derision and used as a warning to the young against escapades with "wild cats." She didn't care; there were not many cats whose opinions mattered to her, and even if they disapproved or sat beside her now with discomfort, they still stood by her.

No, she wasn't bothered by what the others thought. Tinsel and her followers were the least of her concerns. What kept her home was physical; it was too much to go to and from the park everyday, and as she'd never been a mother before, she didn't want to take any unnecessary risks. Besides, her friends knew where to find her—Jink and Maudie visited her every day, and sometimes her friends Cap and his sister Sissy stopped by on their way to or from the park—and Wind, she was sure, knew enough to look for her here.

And sure enough, almost a paper turn later, she heard the familiar scrabbling of claw on wood as a cat ascended the fence. Jink and Maudie had already stopped by earlier that day, and Cap and Sissy had been by the day before; it had to be Wind.

Lily slid awkwardly down from the lawn chair and padded forward…as a spotted brown cat summited the fence, hauling himself up before sliding down the wood, graceless and undignified.

Lily pulled up short, in surprise, tensing. The tom shook himself off, then looked up at her, his gaze a piercing green. "Are you Lily?"

Lily started, mind racing, trying to remember all of Wind's lessons on self-defense, all the while wondering who this cat was, how he knew who she was, and whether or not she could trust him. Deciding to err on the side of caution, she returned, "Who's asking?"

The tom—for she could hear from his voice that he was indeed a tom—narrowed his eyes. Where Wind would have been amused by and proud of her audacious caution, this roguish tom did not seem to heed her words but appeared to be sizing her up. What his training told him—to not give too much away to this stranger, this kittypet—were at odds with what he saw before his own eyes—a pregnant and thus weakened, albeit wary and defensive, kittypet female. He did not like this she-cat, and he did not trust her—but how could he, after what she had done to Wind?

Still, he had a promise to carry out…and he would see it through. He lifted his chin, meeting her gaze. "Pike, general of the rogues, is asking, and will ask again; are you Lily?"

He had not anticipated the response his reply would garner. Lily looked as though she had been pummeled in the gut. "I should have recognized you. You're Wind's brother," she whispered hoarsely. Then, frantically, desperately, "Why are you here? Where is he?"

Pike hesitated, lowering his gaze, and realization sank into Lily's heart. She stared at him, gazing right through him. "He's dead," she whispered, the words hollow and wretched in her mouth. They did not belong there; she could hardly utter them. She could hardly breathe, either, able to manage only the shakiest of breaths before she persisted. "How?"

Pike glanced up at her. "He was killed by… by a fox," he said carefully.

His hesitation betrayed him. Lily's eyes narrowed in understanding. "Killed _by a fox_ or _by Fox_?"

Pike flinched at the harshness and bitterness in her voice, surprised by the knowledge it betrayed, but did not answer, averting his gaze.

Lily softened. "It was my fault, wasn't it?" she asked quietly, her voice losing its harshness but still maintaining its bitter edge, then, gentler, wearier still, "What happened?"

Pike shifted on his paws. Should he tell her? Could he tell it to her? Though Pike loathed her, he was not heartless—she was hurting enough as it was now. Could he injure her further? Still, if he were in her paws… Wind had been her mate, fathered her kits. A lump began to form in his throat. Wind had loved this kittypet. Why, Pike could not say. And she had loved him, which Pike understood all too well. Though his training as a rogue objected, his instinct as a cat forced him to meet her gaze. "Wind was followed. Fox was told. Fox accused Wind…and Wind spoke honestly. He—he didn't even try to deny it. And Fox…Fox challenged him. Taunted him. Humiliated him. But Wind… Wind stood firm. And Fox… Fox attacked him." Pike closed his eyes, the memory flashing before them, and took a deep breath before opening them again. "And Wind…he—he just sat there. He—he didn't fight back. He wouldn't. Which aggravated Fox even more. He taunted Wind more. He humiliated him more. He—he killed him." Pike could hardly speak around the lump in his throat. He refused—_refused_—to fall apart in front of this kittypet. He refused to let her catch him in this moment of weakness. So he swallowed the lump, looked her in the eye, and forced himself to speak evenly. "We tried to stop him, but—we couldn't. Before he—he died, he spoke to me. He wanted me to tell you that he was sorry…and that he knew you would understand why he did what he did." Pike watched Lily, studying her to see her reaction to this. For how could she understand when Pike didn't understand it himself?

And Lily didn't understand—not yet. She would, with time, come to understand why Wind had done what he did—why he didn't fight back. She would come to realize later what Wind had realized then, in his final moments: that he had to die.

For he knew he could not live without Lily—but he couldn't have lived with her after that day, after his humiliation and the revelation of her existence and his deviation. As much as the rogues had disliked Fox and would dislike him more after his exhibition, they had also undoubtedly lost faith in their general, in Wind; for they had trusted him, and might have still if they had heard the truth from his jaws first. But they had not, and now they would be disheartened by what they would see as a betrayal on his part, and they would never accept Lily. And as much as he loved the rogues, he loved Lily, too. He could not, would not, live without her, but he could not live with her, for she would not be accepted in his world, and he could not and would not leave it for hers.

And the rogues, though greatly disheartened, would not think ill of their dead general. They would remember Wind with fondness and his departure with loathing for the one who had brought it about, not he who had suffered it; both he and his death had left an imprint on the rogues, and both would be remembered by them with pride, pride for the strength and dignity and loyalty of the tom who had faced his punishment and fate with calm acceptance. Wind's final act had made its mark; he had not deserved such a punishment for his treason, and yet he had taken it without complaint and would not strike back at the tom who had delivered it, his commander and superior.

And finally, Lily would see that his death was an act of defiance; in his dying and his death, in his refusal to save himself by striking back at his leader, Wind had rebelled in his own way against Fox's tyranny, showing the old cat for what he was, showing his true colors—showing what time and power had made of this cat and warning his companions against those like him. True to his convictions, Wind had not ruthlessly brought down Fox; Fox had done it himself.

Lily did not understand this now, but someday, somehow, though she would never get over it, she would understand it, as Wind knew she would. But for now, Lily's view was slanted, her understanding askew.

"I understand," she whispered, lowering her gaze. "It's all my fault."

_Yes,_ _it is,_ Pike thought, but said nothing.

Lily looked up at him suddenly, intently. "You said that you were general of the rogues," she said slowly.

"Yes."

"But I can't imagine that Fox would replace Wind with his brother. Would he?" Lily tilted her head, eying him warily.

A ghost of a smile twitched on Pike's muzzle. For a moment—just a moment—he could see what had attracted Wind to her. "No, he wouldn't."

"Then why—"

"Because he didn't."

"He—why—"

Pike lowered his head, meeting her confused gaze with his own calm one. "Fox is dead." The frankness—the indifference—with which he spoke sent a chill down Lily's spine. "We had confined him to his den. We found him there the day after—well. The cause of his death was determined to be natural—either he died in his sleep or passed quietly away." Pike stiffened suddenly, his claws gripping the ground fiercely. _Which is more than he deserved. More than he gave Wind._

Lily was quiet. "I see," she murmured, her gaze falling to the ground, her paws, the curve of her belly. She looked up at him again. "Who replaced him—as commander, I mean?"

Pike shifted on his paws. Surely it wasn't his place to tell her or her place to know? And yet… He could see no harm in it; she already knew so much. "When Wind—after—Fox never appointed a new general. So when he died, we chose a new commander, Aspen, who then chose the new general."

"You."

"Me."

Lily fell silent, and so a silence came between them, punctuated only by the sounds of the wind in the plants, the birds in the air, and Pike shifting in the grass. He knew he ought to leave, but he had been charged with this duty, to deliver the news and see it through, and he was not sure yet if it was.

Sure enough, Lily spoke again, after a time.

"He loved me, you know." Quietly she spoke; slowly, she lifted her gaze to him. "I know what you're thinking—how could he love me, a housecat with no skills, no claws, nothing to offer but a few clumps of—of catmint?" Lily choked back a sob at the memory that rose then before her eyes, for she would not let this cat, this stranger, though he be her brother in some sense, see her this way, broken, though unashamedly so. She gathered her composure, speaking evenly now. "But I tell you, he did. Why else would he have done what he did? Did you know he asked me to join the rogues? And not, mind you, after he found out about—about our kits. Then I might have said that he was asking out of a sense of duty, doing the honorable thing—for he was honorable. Even I could see that. Why else did he do it, I ask you? He loved me. I don't know why, and I don't know how, but he did. And I loved him."

Pike was silent. Lily drew in a shaky breath, drawing herself up to her full height and looking him in the eye. "Thank you, Pike, for coming," she said slowly. "Thank you for telling me. I appreciate… I appreciate knowing. The pain of knowing…the sorrow…is great indeed, but the agony of never knowing… I can't imagine…" Lily closed her eyes. "Just…thank you," she whispered to the darkness, opening her eyes again to the brightness of the day.

Pike dipped his head to her. He had completed his task. He turned and, with a bounding leap, scrabbled his way to the top of the fence. He was about to jump down again, when

"Pike!"

He turned, looking down across the yard to where Lily sat, small and sad despite her increasing size and impending joy.

She hesitated, then, "I'm sorry for your loss."

Pike was surprised, and equally so at the anger he felt at her words. _You should be_. The words leaped, unbidden, to his mind, with greater alacrity than that with which he had ascended the fence. But instead of vocalizing them, he dipped his head shortly. "And I yours," he answered, then disappeared.

Lily watched him go; with him went every emotion she had experienced thus far that day—the hope, the despair, the sorrow, the guilt, the pain—leaving her drained. She hardly noticed when Jink appeared atop the fence, hastily descending and approaching, followed closely by Maudie.

"Lily! We saw—are you all right?" Jink stopped, breathless, and Maudie panted behind him.

But Lily did not see them. She stared past them, past the fence, past the alley and the paths and the houses that lined them.

And then she tore her gaze away, looking her friends in the eye, withdrawn, empty.

"No," she answered. "No, I am not."


	10. Chapter 10

A loose breeze, cooled by the night, swept through the glade, fingering Pike's fur and toying with the buds, leaves, and ferns but leaving the topsoil of Wind's grave undisturbed. The dirt had long settled; Pike could even see a lone sprout poking its head up through the earth.

He sighed, and his breath joined the breeze in its revelry. Sharp laughter and raucous shouts rang in the distance as his companions headed to their nests, doubtless getting in one last gibe at the unfortunate forced to guard the camp entrance that night. More than a moon had passed, and he still could not share in their high spirits. It was incredible how quickly they seemed to forget it all. They did not speak of it anymore, partially out of deference to Pike, he knew, but perhaps more out of their own discomfort and wish to bury their shame with their dead general, he was sure.

They had found a way to cope with their grief and guilt—they had moved on. As for Pike, well. He had once thought, once hoped—foolishly, foolishly—that perhaps carrying out his promise to his dying brother, meeting with the kittypet—_Lily_, he thought with a grimace—would help ease his pain. To be sure, it had provided him closure of a kind, to a point—he had done his duty, after all. But his grief remained unabated. The small part of him that had thought that in opening up wounds in Lily he would transfer his pain to her, and the even smaller part that had pervertedly expected to find some relief from his suffering in hers, were unsatisfied.

And where did that leave Pike? _Here_, he thought. _Alone. But for what?_

He closed his eyes, sighing once again. But the breeze had left the glade, and so his breath hung stale and alone in the air.

But Pike was no longer alone. A rustling in the ferns behind him prompted his eyes to open slowly, and he turned his head to see Wish standing wraithlike at the end of the glade. Her ginger-patched white coat shone in the night's pale glow, and her gaze flickered from the rise of dirt to Pike sitting before it. She drifted over to stand beside him, and then she sat. Neither spoke, for though he was comforted by her presence, it was not enough to penetrate the pain that had preceded her, and he knew she knew this, for he felt her head rest itself on his shoulder.

_Why, Wind?_ he asked his brother, looking not to the ground but lifting his eyes to the sky and stars above. _Why? _

Wind did not answer.


	11. Chapter 11

"You're doing fine," Cap was assuring her. "Breathe, Lily. It's going to be all right."

Though it was a warm day, Jink shivered, turning to Sissy. "I didn't know your brother knew how to deliver kits."

Sissy didn't meet his gaze, her eyes on Cap as he gently guided Lily through the birthing. "He helped Livia with hers."

Maudie looked on nervously, her tail twitching, and cringed as Lily yowled. "Good thing he did, then. And a good thing you two came by today."

"And here comes the first kit!" Cap announced. As it slid out onto the grass, he nipped open the sac covering its mouth, passing it then to Sissy, who had come forward and, taking the kit, began to lick it energetically, rhythmically, rubbing its fur against its natural inclination.

Two more kits followed their littermate. Following Sissy's example, Jink and Maudie tended to them, and then Cap stepped back to let the mother see her kits as they were placed at her belly.

Lily gasped, first from the relief as the pain subsided, and then as she saw her kits—hers and Wind's kits.

There was a tom and two she-cats, and the tom was a replica of his father, powerfully built, his white pelt patched in black. Lily's heart ached and the sour taste of bile filled her mouth, but she forced it down, looking to her other kits. One of the she-cats had her mother's golden-brown pelt, and the other was patched like her father, but with gray rather than black.

"What are you going to name them, Lily?"

Lily looked up at Maudie. "I-I don't know. I hadn't thought of it," she admitted, gazing down at her kits. It didn't feel right, naming them without Wind, for they were his, too…

She closed her eyes and was silent for a time, then opened them and lifted her tail, touching the tom gently with her tail-tip. "Badger," she pronounced, thinking of the great black and white animals of which Wind had told her. She swept her tail across the golden-brown she-kit—"Leaf"—as she remembered the previous season of falling leaves, when she had first met Wind. But as she reached the last kit, she paused, and in her hesitation, she was struck by an idea, and with certainty, she dangled her tail over the gray-and-white patched she-kit—"and Iris."

"Badger, Leaf, and Iris," Maudie repeated. Cap grinned, and Sissy smiled.

"They're beautiful, Lil," Jink told her.

Lily looked up at him, at Maudie and Cap and Sissy. "They are, aren't they?"

And for the first time in a long time, she smiled.


	12. Chapter 12

"Badger! _Badger!_ Come on out already!" Leaf's high-pitched yowl penetrated the thin foliage of the garden shrubs, but Badger didn't hear her, for Badger was not within the shrubbery.

But Leaf, standing with her sister Iris out on the lawn, didn't know this, and she was just about to go in after him when Badger emerged from the bushes, looking pleased with himself.

"Did you find it?" Leaf demanded. In answer, Badger scooped the pinecone up and tossed it toward her. "So what took so long?"

Badger lifted his chin. "I found something else."

The sisters, Leaf on his heels, Iris lingering behind, followed their brother through the garden growth to the fence which hailed the end of their yard and the beginning of the world outside. It was to a back corner of the fence that Badger brought them and that they saw—

"A hole!" Leaf exclaimed. For, sure enough, at the bottom of one of the planks was a small gap, just large enough that they could squeeze through—as Badger duly demonstrated.

"Now we can have some _real_ fun." Badger grinned.

"But what about Mother?" Iris squirmed in discomfort. "She said we weren't to leave the yard."

Leaf rolled her eyes. "Mother doesn't have to know. We'll be back before she gets home. Between going to the park and going to see Livia, she'll be gone all day."

"But it's still dangerous!"

"Iris—" Leaf was getting exasperated, "—Mother only said that because she didn't want us trying to climb the fence. Besides, we're a lot older and bigger now—almost five paper turns, Mother said the other day."

"And it will be fun," Badger added excitedly. "It will be an _adventure._" But Iris wasn't convinced.

"I still I don't think it's a good idea."

"No one's making you come, Iris." Leaf slipped through the gap, turning to face her sister. "Now, are you coming or not?"

Iris hesitated. Mother didn't have to know… and if she went, she could keep an eye on the other two. Besides, it could be fun…or it could be dangerous. And if Mother did find out, she'd be furious. Iris shook her head.

"Fine. Suit yourself." And then before she could try to stop them, Leaf and Badger had disappeared, leaving Iris nervous, worried, and very much alone.

Leaf and Badger soon discovered that, for all their five paper turns, they were still at a disadvantage size-wise in the village. Still, they were fast learners and soon realized that if they kept off the main paths, keeping to sidepaths treaded by housefolk feet and avoided by moving contraptions, the going was safer and easier. And then, when they had been out and heading in the same straight direction for a time, they discovered that while their escapade was certainly an adventure, full of new and exciting sights and smells, it wasn't very fun; and so they sought to make it more so, so that, they both thought silently, it would have been more worth their while should Mother find out and punish them.

Though small, they had the energy and liveliness of youth on their sides, and though their paws were sore, they were determined to have a good time, and so, by keeping up a good pace, with time they reached the edge of the village.

They did not think it was possible for the village to end. The village itself was to them the outside world; and how could the world come to an end? But there, beyond the last row of houses, was a large open field, and, though their consciences pricked their minds, their curiosity ruled the day; there was no turning back. After little deliberation, they pressed onward, into the tall grasses that surrounded and enveloped them. They did not know where they went, and so they maintained their straight course, that they might, when they were ready to return home, simple turn about and head straight back.

If the smells of the village had been a spread of smells for their sheltered senses, the smells of the fields were a feast. The natural aromas, like those of their garden, were more familiar to them than those of the village, but they were just as strong.

The intrepid explorers—for they did not know enough to tread with trepidation—were tired, sore, hungry, and chilled to the bone, for the energy of youth and the eagerness with which they had started their mission could not keep the cold of the season of falling leaves at bay; and both were considering suggesting to the other that they head back when a line of what looked to be trees appeared in the distance. And, though the afternoon was coming to an end, their hunger was at its peak, and the already chilly day was giving way to a cold that seeped into their weary bones, their stubborn curiosities held fast, and their heavy paws plodded on and on until they had reached the forest.

"Maybe we should go back," Leaf whispered, her voice cracking, for they had ceased conversing long before; her words sounded eerie in the stillness of the field.

Badger hesitated. He wanted to go back—more than anything, really—but he thought perhaps his sister was testing him, and he did not want her to think him a scaredy-cat.

"I'm not afraid," he replied sharply. "Are you?"

"I'm not afraid if you're not," Leaf retorted. "But shouldn't we get back before we're missed?"

Badger glanced at his sister, then up at the line of trees that towered before him. He felt a sudden urge then, a sudden boldness, a sudden need to see what lay beyond. "We're already missed."

"Then shouldn't we get back so Mother doesn't worry? We're going to be in so much trouble."

"We've already come this far. We can't stop now. We're already going to be in trouble. We might as well make it worth our while." It was poor logic, and deep within themselves, they both knew it, but it had already brought them this far, and it would take them a little farther.

And so they stepped into the forest, sealing their fates.

Passing through underbrush and marveling at the height and number of the trees, they soon found themselves in a small glade. But once there, standing in a place similar and yet far different from anyplace they knew, with the trees towering over and throwing shadows around them, they found themselves very much cold, very much hungry, very much tired and sore, and very much afraid.

They huddled together in a pool of low, variegated light filtering in through the trees.

"Badger? I want to go home," Leaf whispered, fighting hard to keep the whimper out of her words. "I wish we hadn't come this far."

Badger didn't say what he was thinking: that he wished they hadn't come so far, either. "Let's go home," he said in reply.

"We never should have left." Leaf's throat tightened, holding back a sob as they stepped forward, out of the light and into the shade of the looming trees.

"You should have thought of that before." Leaf shrieked and even Badger started, both of them skittering backward, into the light, as a cold voice entered the clearing, followed by the shadowy form of a cat—no, two—no, _three_ cats. Three pairs of eyes neared them, glowing.

Badger was beyond frightened; he'd never felt so scared in all of his life, and was quite certain he never would again. But he knew that for however frightened he was, Leaf was doubly so; he could feel her fur standing on end against his, hear her trembling breaths, see her quaking body beside his. And he would be brave for her.

He stepped in front of his sister, drawing himself up to his full kit height, baring his kit teeth and unsheathing his unclipped kit claws.

And to his surprise, he saw the three cats, who had begun to form a circle around the kits, stop; saw their narrowed eyes widen in surprise.

"It can't be," the first voice, a tom's, breathed.

"He looks just like Wi—" The second speaker was cut off, shushed by his companions.

"Pike should see this," a third voice, a she-cat's, cut in.

"By the time we bring him here, it'll be dark." The first spoke slowly. "We'll have to bring the kit to him."

"What about the she-kit?" hissed the she-cat.

There was silence as the first tom contemplated their options. "We have no use for her," he decided finally. "Leave her. Grab the tom."

Throughout the whole of the exchange, Badger was too shocked and Leaf, too terrified, to react to or even have the awareness to be confused by their ambushers' words. But now they sank in, and though Badger did not know what a Pike was, or why they seemed to be talking about himself, he understood enough to know that he and Leaf were in danger—both of separation, her of abandonment, and him of whatever these cats had in store for him.

So as one of the cats stepped into the light, Badger snarled, his paw shooting out towards the light brown she-cat's muzzle. Though unsuspecting, the she-cat was fast, pulling her head back before he could land his blow. Badger was unbalanced, and taking advantage, the she-cat swooped in and grabbed him by the scruff. Badger struggled but could not break free.

"Leaf! HELP!" he yowled.

Leaf had been frozen, rooted in place by shock, but Badger's cry startled her to action. Panicking, Leaf allowed her instinct to control her movements as she shot forward and sank her teeth into the she-cat's raised hind paw. The she-cat screeched, but Leaf held tight. Dropping Badger, the she-cat jerked her paw, hard, and Leaf's small teeth failed her. The momentum sent her flying, and a tree ended her flight. She smacked into the trunk, hard, tumbling to the ground, where she lay, crumpled and unmoving.

Badger screamed. He ran toward his sister. The two toms moved to stop him, but he darted past them, skidding to a halt beside his sister's still form and burying his nose in her still-warm fur. "Nonono, Leaf, you're okay. We've got to get home now. Come on. Mother and Iris are waiting. Come—NO!"

He howled as he was grabbed by the scruff, twisting, paws flailing, trying to land a blow anywhere, on anyone, anywhere on any one of these cats who had hurt Leaf, and through Leaf, him.

Something flashed across his line of view, and without thinking, Badger snapped his jaws around it. Somecat yowled as Badger's fangs, small but sharp, fastened around his tail and held fast. The cat yanked his tail away, and Badger heard and felt his fur rip as he was torn from his captor's hold.

Badger's grip was strong, but his momentum was stronger. The tail between his teeth snapped, and Badger went sailing. The world spun around him, the ground rose up to meet him, Badger hit it headfirst, and everything went black.


	13. Chapter 13

"It's going to rain," Pike commented as they left the training glade.

"How do you know?" Beside him, Ice was hurrying to keep up with his longer strides. Noticing this, Pike slowed, moderating his pace.

"I can smell it." Glancing at her, he saw her looking up at him with eyes narrowed, disbelieving, apparently trying to discern if he was serious or not. "Go ahead," he pressed her earnestly. "Take a whiff. You can smell it in the air."

Though she didn't look entirely convinced, Ice obliged him, parting her jaws to scent the air. Sure enough, there was a particular scent to the air, a weightiness that gave it. It sent a pleasant chill down her back, causing the fur along her spine to rise as she drank in the scent. "I can smell it. It's like—" She stopped, ceasing not just talking but walking as well, for beside her, Pike had stopped, and, in looking up at Pike, she found he was no longer looking down at her. "Pike?" She followed his gaze. They had reached camp, in the middle of which a large group had amassed.

Ice glanced back up at Pike, who was frowning. Although frowns frequented his face, this one was deeper than usual. She wasn't sure why; they had no reason to believe anything was wrong. But perhaps his instinct forewarned him otherwise.

She bounded after him as he moved suddenly and quickly, this time heedless of her size and pace. As the other rogues caught sight of him, they moved aside, parting to reveal Scorch, Cicada, and Coney at the center of the excitement. The three seniors were not, however, the cause of the excitement itself; what had piqued the rogues' curiosity—and Pike's consciousness, Ice thought—was the black and white bundle of fur dangling, unmoving and presumably unconscious, from Scorch's jaws.

At Pike's approach, Scorch set the kit on the ground before his paws.

As surprised as all of the rogues had been (and for those only now catching a glimpse, were), none was so surprised as Pike. Pike stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw hanging just so, and he remained so, frozen in place. He did not speak, though everyone around him did, exchanging pointed whispers as well as wide-eyed looks.

"It looks _dead_!"

"Where did it come from?"

"It looks just like—"

Clamping his jaw, Pike made an abrupt about-face to face the rogues, addressing them curtly.

"Go back to your duties. There is nothing to see here." Though this was obviously not the case, and they all knew it, they also knew that Pike was not to be reckoned with, so, albeit with cursory glances over their shoulders as they went, the crowd dispersed, leaving Pike, the three seniors, and the black and white kit.

"What's going on?" Pike turned his head at Wish's approach.

"What are you doing out here?" He touched his nose to hers, as always, pleased to see her, but allowing his concern to stand at the forefront. "You should be resting. Moth said you're due any day now."

Wish smiled. "I wanted to see what was causing all the commotion." Her eyes fell on the kit, and the smile slowly slipped away, her eyes widening ever so slightly as what she saw before her registered. She looked up at Pike, her voice soft. "He looks just like Wind."

The three seniors stared, looking from her to Pike, but Pike did not react harshly, instead giving her a wry smile.

"Yes," he agreed. "Yes, he does."

"That's what we thought, sir, when we found him." Scorch took this opportunity to step forward, bowing his head as Pike turned sharply to look at the black tom.

"Where was this?"

"Not far from the northern border."

"Any idea what he was doing there?"

Scorch shook his head. "We were out hunting when we found him."

Pike nodded. "Well, I suppose we'll find out more when he wakes." He turned away.

"Sir—" Pike looked back at Scorch.

"Yes?"

Scorch hesitated, but realizing it was too late now, took a deep breath. "I don't know that we will."

"Excuse me?"

"Find out more, I mean." He shuffled his paws.

"Scorch, what do you—"

"He hit the ground pretty hard, sir."

Pike's eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing. "You knocked him out?"

"Not on purpose! He bit my tail, and when I shook him off—"

"It's true, Pike." Cicada stepped forward, speaking earnestly. "Coney and I both saw it. We knew you'd want to see the kit, but when we tried to grab him, he attacked us."

"And was he fierce!" Coney chuckled. "I've never heard Scorch yowl that loud. Of course, that was nothing compared to what that little she-cat did to you, eh, Cicada? I'll bet they heard you screeching all the way down in the Clans—"

"What she-cat?" Though Coney remained oblivious, smiling a little at the memory, Scorch and Cicada shrank under the intensity of their commander's glare. "You didn't mention any she-cat."

"Well, she was more of a small, really—" Coney began.

"There was a she-kit with him. We knew you'd want to see the tom, but we didn't think you'd care about the she-kit. We didn't think she was important," Scorch explained, shooting a glare at Coney, but even as he said them, he knew that his words wouldn't fly with Pike.

"Sounds like you just didn't think," Pike retorted tartly. He regretted the words instantly, for his seniors flinched, ducking their heads, but it was too late to take them back now, so he pressed on, frowning. "What did this she-kit look like?"

"She was brown. Maybe more golden-brown," Cicada answered, lifting her head. "I can't say for sure; it was pretty dark."

Pike had no trouble concealing his surprise at this piece of information, for he realized that he really shouldn't be surprised. "Well, let's hope it's not too dark, because you're going to go find her."

"Right now, sir?"

"Right now."

"But it's going to rain!" Coney protested.

Pike tilted his head, a thin smile lighting on his muzzle. "Well, you'd better hurry, then, hadn't you?"


	14. Chapter 14

_Any moment now,_ Iris thought as she paced the length of the garden for the umpteenth time. She had lost count of how many turns this was, but despite the soreness in her paws and the hunger in her belly and the dimming light in the sky, she kept walking. _Any moment now, they'll be home. Any moment now—_

"Kits? I'm home!"

Iris froze. _No. Nonononono_—

"Iris? Where are Badger and Leaf?"

Iris slowly turned to face her mother.

When Lily saw the look on her daughter's face, her heart stopped. Someway, somehow, it managed to beat again, but never again would it beat as innocently and gladly as it had before that moment. She listened as Iris recounted what had happened that morning, the words spilling from her daughter's jaws so quickly, pursued by a torrent of emotions, that Iris stumbled over them numerous times; and by the end of the account, Lily's face was a reflection of her daughter's—hollow, haunted, disbelieving, fearful, anguished.

"How—how could you let this happen?" she whispered, her voice quivering as she struggled to maintain control. But something snapped in Lily, something that had been lying in wait for days, weeks, paper turns, maybe—and she lost control. "Why did you let them go? Why didn't you stop them? _How could you do this to me?_"

Iris stepped backward, whimpering. "I didn't—you told us not to leave—they wouldn't—"

Realizing that she was scaring her daughter, Lily forced her fur to lie flat and lowered her voice, regaining a contentious control over her emotions. "I know. I know." Lily stepped forward, and Iris buried her muzzle in her mother's fur. "I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I know you tried."

Iris withdrew, looking up at her mother with wide eyes. "Why didn't they come back? They said they'd come back."

A lump formed in Lily's throat, and what was left of her twice-broken heart shattered as she saw her own fears in her kit's eyes.

"I don't know, Iris,' she admitted slowly, "but I'm going to find them."

But Lily didn't find them. Everycat she passed promised to keep their eyes peeled, but none had seen either kit. She scoured the streets until her legs ached, called their names until her throat was hoarse, and hoped until her hopes were all but gone. Even when the sun had vanished beneath the horizon, even when its fading light was masked by a cover of gray clouds, still she continued her search.

It was only when her paws, ragged and sore, had touched every road, every sidestreet, every alleyway, that she ceased searching. She stood, motionless but for her heaving chest, in the drizzle dropped from above. The cold wind nipped at and the cold water seeped into her fur, chilling her to the bone, but it was the wail that pierced the night air and made even those safe indoors from the elements shiver in their pelts. And for all the anguish in her cry, it all was nothing compared to the anguish in her heart.


	15. Chapter 15

"He looks like a little badger, don't you think?"

After Scorch, Cicada, and Coney had left, Pike and Wish had removed themselves and the kit to the females' den. At present, Wish was its only occupant, so the den was spacious and private; and so when it began to rain, Pike stayed. And for a while, he sat in silence, simply watching the kit and waiting for his emissaries' return. Not a word had passed between himself and Wish in the meantime—that is, until now.

"Hm?"

"The kit. He looks like a little badger when he sleeps."

"Since when have you seen a sleeping badger?"

Wish smiled, laying her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes.

Yes, Pike thought, tilting his head as he watched the kit sleep. He did look like a little badger. Like a little Wind. And before his eyes, he suddenly saw that it was Wind curled up, asleep. Sure enough, there came a little Pike, sneaking—or rather, trying to sneak—across the shadowed den to his brother's side. His butt waggled as he prepared to pounce, and he leaped upon his sleeping brother with a roar. He had the element of surprise on his side; and it was clear to both of them that that was the only reason he had won, but he didn't care; he trumpeted to the whole wide world of the den the fox's victory over the ferocious badger.

Pike blinked and the vision vanished. He swallowed, trying to relieve the nausea that filled the pit of his stomach.

"Pike?"

Wish lifted her head, and he turned around. Scorch, Cicada, and Coney stood, dripping, at the entrance of the den. Pike stood and went to them while Wish listened from where she sat.

"Did you…?"

Scorch shook his head, flinging droplets in every direction. "No sign of her anywhere. We checked all over."

Pike hid his frustration. "All right. I know you tried. Get to your den and try to dry off." As they turned to go, he added, "And thank you."

When they had disappeared from sight, he returned to Wish's side, sitting down with a sigh. They did not speak for several minutes, then

"Pike?"

"Hm?"

"What are you going to do?"

Pike gazed down at the kit, the spitting image of Wind. Wind's son, he was almost sure of it. His own nephew. His fur and blood.

"Badger would be a good name for him, don't you think?"

Wish frowned, tilting her head. "We can't keep him, Pike. He needs to be with his mother—she must be worried sick about him! We have to take him home."

Pike didn't meet her gaze. "We don't have to do anything of the kind."

Wish could hardly believe what she had just head. "What do you mean? Pike, he's not our kit!"

"He's Wind's kit, which makes him half rogue. That's half ours. We have just as much right to him as she does."

"But she's his _mother_. Wind's _gone_, Pike. He's not here. But if he were, he'd want his son to be with his mother. _Where he belongs_. She must be frantic. She's probably looking all over for him."

"How do you know? She may be dead. Or maybe she's a horrible mother. How do you think he ended up here? She may not even know he's missing. She may not even care. It may be a good thing he's here. Heck, maybe it was fate that brought him here. Or his rogue blood. If he even has any, that is. He may not even be Wind's kit, for all we know!"

"Pike—" Wish touched his shoulder with her tail-tip, but Pike jerked away, so she drew back. "You aren't making any sense. Will you just listen to yourself? I'm not even sure if you are yourself. You don't sound like yourself."

"Or maybe I haven't been myself for a long time," he responded slowly, turning his head to look her in the eye. Wish found that she couldn't look away, though as a shudder passed through her, she wanted to, "and now I'm doing what I should've done a long time ago. I'm taking a stand. I'm putting my paw down."

"Pike—"

"I already lost Wind, Wish." Pike's anger had died, spent like a flare in a windstorm, and Wish saw now only desperation—that, she thought, that was more like him. A little more.

Suddenly unable to meet her gaze, Pike looked away, his gaze settling on the only other cat in the den, the center of their argument, the cause of their trouble. "I should have saved him, Wish," he said softly. "I could have saved him. But I didn't. I as good as killed him myself. My own fur and blood_._ I'm not going to lose that again."

"But Pike, his mother—"

"If she comes for him," Pike lifted his gaze to hers, "If she comes for him, she can take him. I won't stop her. But until then…he stays. With us."

She followed his gaze back to the kit, who slept on peacefully, unaware. In the silence that followed, Pike lay down, putting his head on his paws, and watched the kit. Wish did her best to lie down comfortably beside him, and she must have succeeded, for before long, she had drifted off. As the night wore on, Pike himself began to doze, slipping in and out of sleep before awaking fully and finally with a start.

Light filtered hazily into the den, but that was not what had woken him. He lifted his head, blinking the sleep from his eyes and banishing it from his mind. In the half-darkness, a pair of amber eyes gleamed, flashing as a black and white head whipped frantically back and forth.

"Where—where am I?" A chill ran the length of Pike's spine. He sat up but lowered his head to meet the kit's bewildered gaze with his own, warm and comforting.

"You're right here, Badger," he said quietly. "You're home."


	16. Epilogue

The morning was almost over when Badger returned from patrol. After doing a sweep of MoonClan's border with War and Juniper, they had gone off to train and he had returned to make their report. As he entered the rogue camp, he found it enveloped in an air of tranquility. There was an almost laziness to the air as seniors and juniors drifted in and out of camp and females lounged around the clearing, their smalls tumbling around them without the expected excess of energy.

Ice, the rogues' commander, was in conference with Jolt, their general, and so Badger waited patiently aside, content just to sit and bask in the warmth which, on top of the long succession of uneventful suns they had been experiencing, seemed to Badger to create the haze of inactivity and peace that had settled over the clearing.

Of course, all things must end. No sooner was he conscious of the peace than it ended. But it wasn't the rustling of a patch of the ferns surrounding the camp nor even the light pulse of pawsteps across the forest floor that first jolted the rogues from the cloud of tedium; it was the scent.

Smalls stopped tumbling, females shook themselves and got to their paws, and seniors and juniors ceased drifting about camp, all congregating in the center of camp as the stench of an outsider entered the clearing on the gray-patched white pelt of the cat herself.

She was flanked by Stride and Peace, the former cool and calm, the other, never true to his name, wearing a snarl beneath slitted eyes.

All eyes followed her and all ears stretched, straining in preparation to try to catch her imminent words with Ice as her two guards brought her to their commander and general, who had ceased conversing. They did not have to stretch far as Stride began the report.

"Ice. We found this cat within our borders."

"Trespassing on our territory," Peace growled.

Ice's ear flicked, but Stride ignored his companion. "We found her scent on the northern border and tracked her down. She had not penetrated far into our territory, and she did not seem to pose a threat, so we—"

"_He_—" Peace growled.

"—wanted to bring her to you. She asked to speak to you—not by name, of course. I mean she asked to speak with our leader. When we asked why, she wouldn't say. She said she'd only speak to you. Which is why we—"

"_He—_" Peace growled.

"—brought her here."

Ice flicked her tail, dismissing the toms, who withdrew as she settled her piercing blue gaze on the she-cat left in her presence. Badger had to admire the stranger, who did not waver under Ice's scrutiny, which could make even the hardest rogue bend. Either she was too simple to understand the healthy need to fear the gray she-cat, or she was too brave and determined in her mission to care. Oblivion or obstinacy, whichever the case, she did not falter, even when Ice stood and paced around her. The patched she-cat's green eyes followed Ice, whose nose crinkled ever so slightly as she completed her appraisal.

"So, kittypet, why are you here?" The she-cat started as Ice broke her former silence.

"Excuse me?"

"You're from the two-leg dens to the north, are you not?" Though she tried to conceal it with sharpness, Badger could tell Ice was becoming impatient.

"I—I suppose? Yes."

"Then what are you doing here!" A trace of a snarl lined her words.

"I—I'm looking for someone. My brother. He disappeared when we were kits, and I have reason to believe he may have gotten this far. His name is—was—Badger, and—"

Shock rippled through the camp on a wave of gasps. Even Ice seemed disconcerted, her chin jerking upward before she quickly regained her commanding composure. But none was so startled as Badger, who found himself getting to his paws as his companions all turned their heads to look at him. The movement caught the she-cat's eye; she turned her head and both eyes widened as they fell on Badger.

"Badger." Though softly spoken, the word rang out. It filled the air which filled Badger's lungs and he could not breathe around the word that thus stole the breath from his body. With the word came the voice that shook him, and with the voice came the face, the eyes that froze him in place.

No one moved as the she-cat, after a moment's hesitation, took a tentative step towards him; not even Ice, to whom the action could be considered a slight.

"Badger, it's me. It's me, Iris!"

Badger started. At his movement, the rogues were reanimated. They exchanged glances and a few whispers before they were silenced by a look from Ice, who then turned her cold gaze onto Badger. "Do you know this cat, Badger?" She eyed him intently, but her blue eyes betrayed no emotion.

Badger looked at her, looked at the rogues, whose eyes were all on him and ears pricked towards him, looking last at the she-cat, who was silent now but silently pleading, her desperation vibrant in green eyes that bore a strange familiarity. Where he had initially been unsettled by the fact that this stranger knew his name and claimed to know him, he was now not so sure she was a stranger. For as he blinked once, twice, suddenly her face did not seem so foreign to him. Three times, four—her voice registered in the back of his head. Five times—he took a step forward as an image came forward in his mind, shedding the dust and cobwebs that had buried it deep.

"Iris," he breathed. "I know you." His voice rose with excitement. "I know you! You're Iris. You're—" His voice dropped. "You're my sister."

"It was very nice of your leader to let us use her room." Iris peered around the den, which though a mite cramped for two, especially when one was accustomed to spacious rooms and high ceilings. afforded them the privacy they had desired.

"We got lucky. She was having a good day." Badger sat down across from his sister, a little surprised by how naturally his reply came, a little disconcerted with his own easy manner towards this stranger, though she was his kin.

"This is her good day?"

"Either that or I must be on her good side. I mean if she had one." Badger grinned.

Iris' eyes widened. "That bad? She looked a little frightening, but I had no idea—"

"Oh, no. She's really not all that bad," Badger amended quickly. "She's rough, to be sure… I suppose you have to be, to be commander of the rogues. They're kind of a rough bunch, so to lead them, you have to be rougher than them."

"You talk almost as if you aren't one of them."

"I am! I'm just… I'm just different. I always have been; it wasn't hard to see. I love them all, but I haven't always fit in with them… And I guess now we know why."

Iris looked down at her paws. "It's so strange," she said softly. "I never thought… I mean, we thought you had died. I never thought you'd become a wild cat. A rogue." Her gaze flickered back up to his face. "Like Wind."

"Excuse me?"

"Wind. Our father. He was a wild cat—a rogue. Mother told me about him. She said you looked like him. And it turns out you are a—rogue like him, too."

Something clicked in the back of Badger's mind. Images and words filled an empty space in his memory, and as they filed before his eyes and through his ears, a cold realization settled within him, and he looked at his sister with blank eyes as he remembered. "That's why I'm here," he whispered. "That's why they took me in."

"Badger, what—"

Badger stood. The coldness within him began to melt, to heat, to burn into anger. "They wanted me because I looked like my father!" Anger flashed in his amber eyes, blazing as he replayed the memory as though he were watching it before him. "They knew I was his son! That's why they took me in—why they brought me here! They didn't want Leaf; they only wanted—" He stopped cold, his anger burning out. "Leaf."

"Badger—"

He looked back up at his sister as though only just now seeing her. "Don't you understand? They didn't want her. They wanted me. So they took me. And then they left her. They left her for dead." His eyes widened as another realization struck him. "She's dead. Leaf is dead. They killed her. She's dead. Oh, Iris, I'm so sorry. Leaf is dead!"

"I know."

"What?"

Iris touched her tail-tip to his shoulder, inducing Badger to sit, which he did. "She died some paper turns—moons—back of a cold season illness—some cough. I spoke to the forest cats in the forest north and east of this one…. They called themselves 'loners.' They said they found her moons ago, when she was a kit, wandering their woods, nearly dead. She was so pitiful, they didn't think twice about taking her in. No one ever came looking for her, and she couldn't remember a thing."

"She hit her head."

"Well, she was able to recognize her name. At least, they thought she did. They were trying to figure out her name or even just figure out a name to call her. They didn't remember exactly what was said, but someone said 'leaf' and her ears just pricked up and she looked up, and whether or not that was her real name, they figured it was as good a sign as any that it was to be their name for her."

"So all those moons," Badger began slowly, "all those moons, Leaf was alive. A loner. And I didn't know it. I didn't even know she existed!" Closing his eyes, he silently moaned. No sound escaped his jaws, but his heart ached as he felt it wrench and give.

Iris was quiet, her own sorrow no less than his, perhaps greater. While her littermates had lived in ignorance of each other's existence, she had lived in constant knowledge of their absence. "Leaf lived a good life, Badger. Those around her loved her, and she was a blessing to them. If she sensed that something in her life was missing, she did not live so."

Badger sighed. "I am glad for that."

Iris considered her brother carefully, a question burning in her mind. Putting both their feelings aside, she decided to pursue it, for she knew this may be her only chance to ask it. "Badger, if I may be so bold… What happened to the two of you? How could you leave us?"

She didn't mean for it to sound accusatory—well, perhaps a little—but Badger flinched as though it were. She noted his mounting distress, but she did not retract her question. She had to know. She _needed_ to know.

"We didn't plan to go that far—really, we didn't. We were stupid." Bitterness edged his tone as he relived the memory in his mind. "It was all my fault, really. We were both tired by the time we reached the edge of the village. But once we caught sight of the forest, well, there was no stopping then, was there? The field was bigger than we imagined, but we kept going. We kept telling ourselves—well, _I_ kept telling us—that it couldn't be much farther, that as long as we had come this far, we might as well keep going. By the time we reached the forest, we knew we were in over our heads and that we'd be in for it when we got home…and so we knew we might never get another chance and we had to see, now, what lay beyond the line of trees. Little did we know that we would not only see it, but we'd never return from it."

"We were stupid, and we paid the price for it. The ultimate price." He told her, then, about the encounter with the rogues. "I remember—I was thrown. I must have hit the ground or some object. The next I remember, I was in the rogue camp. I couldn't remember anything except I knew something wasn't right. That I didn't belong. They called me Badger. Maybe, like Leaf, I recognized it at least subconsciously, because that at least felt right. I don't know. But from then on, the only memories I had were the ones I made here. Everything I knew, everything I remembered, was of the rogues." He shook his head. "And to think I brought this all on myself. I can't believe I was ever so stupid…so stupid and thoughtless and selfish…Leaf was only following me, you know. I don't think she wanted to go, but she didn't want to leave me and she didn't want to leave me alone.

"I can't think what it must have been like for you and Mother…" Badger paused. "Iris, speaking of Mother… Where is she? Why didn't she come with you?"

Deep within himself, Badger must have known the answer, for he was not surprised when Iris averted her eyes and answered quietly, "She died."

Badger closed his eyes, opening them when he had rummaged around for and secured a picture of his mother in his mind. "How?"

"She…was never the same after you left. I mean, she got up every morning. We went to the wall—we met up with our friends and others—every day."

"But she was just going through the motions."

"Yes. And just as she passed through the days…she passed away."

Badger felt a lump form in his throat. "When?"

Iris shrugged. "A few paper—moons ago. To be honest… She had become so distant, the differences between life before and life after her death were so subtle, I hardly noticed she was gone, as terrible as that sounds."

She ducked her head in embarrassment, but her shame was nothing compared to that of Badger, whose face had acquired a look of pain, as if he had been struck there and the sting had not subsided. "I killed her. I killed my own mother."

"No, Badger—"

"Don't," he snapped. "It's about time I took the blame for what I did. This guilt is long overdue."

Iris didn't argue. Though she knew her littermates had not done it intentionally, it was true—they were responsible, in no small part, for their mother's decline and thus her death. They had not done it on purpose, and they had not known they were doing it when they had done it; but they had.

Iris knew that it was not completely their fault. Their mother had been saddled with a burden too heavy for her—or at the very least, one she thought too heavy for her, one she maybe would not, more so than could not, bring herself to carry. Lily had given up, in the end—Iris knew that. Given up and given in. And she was gone now… She was at peace.

"I know it may not help now," Iris began suddenly, "but, well, I'm sure she is happier now. I mean, she's with Wind and Leaf now. And I'm sure she can see me and see you, see us together. That must make her happy."

"You believe that? That she's with them now? That she can see us now?"

"Yes. I do."

Badger was silent. Then, "Thank you. That…helps." They fell into a silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts. It was Badger who finally spoke. "You know, you never told me what brought you here."

"What?"

"How did you find me, after all these moons? And how did you find out about Leaf?"

A small, crooked smile found its way onto Iris' muzzle. "You know, it's funny… When—when Mother was alive, my main focus was always getting her through the day as best as I could. Getting _us_ through the day. We both came to accept what…had happened. But when she died, even though a lot didn't change because of her…state, when she died, her absence meant that not only was _I_ freer, but my mind was freer, too. And I began to think about the events that had led to her death. I thought about what she had once told me about Wind—about Father. And I thought about you and Leaf.

"I was all alone now…but I began to wonder if I really was. Were you all really dead? I knew Father was, but even then, when he didn't come back to Mother, she didn't know that he was dead. What if you and Leaf had just never come back? It didn't have to mean you were dead. I mean, we had never found your bodies. Death had always seemed the most logical outcome, but it had never been certain.

"And suddenly I knew I had to find out. If I learned nothing or learned that you were dead, the truth could not hurt me because I had lived with it ever since you left. I had everything to gain and nothing to lose. With Mother gone and no other obligations, there was nothing holding me back."

"And so you came here."

"Yes—well, I started in the forest east of the village. Knowing what I did about Father…well, I was in no hurry to meet the rogues if I didn't have to. So I started there. It didn't take too long for me to run across some of the cats that inhabit those woods. They were most amiable when I explained my mission and most obliging in telling me everything they knew about Leaf… We talked the day away. I spent the night there and then came here, and the rest you know." She laughed suddenly, softly. "You know, I still can't believe I'm here. These last two days… They feel like a dream. I feel like I'm going to wake up any moment now." She shook her head. "I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe I did this."

"Well, I'm glad you did."

"I'm glad I did, too."

They smiled. But a shadow crossed Badger's face, and his smile slowly faded. "It's been so many moons, Iris… So much time, so many times we would have shared, could have shared. What might our lives have been? What might they be now, if not for what happened?"

Iris shivered. Wrapping her tail tighter around her and curling it over her paws, she considered her brother's question carefully before answering. "I've often wondered… I've had, as you say, 'moons' to consider the possibilities. And in the end, every time I come to the conclusion that it's not worth thinking and speculating about what might have been. We can guess, we can theorize, but we'll never know for sure. There are infinite possibilities, a thousand different courses our lives may have taken. And who's to say that they would have been better than the ones we're on now?" Her voice had risen in volume. Consciously, she lowered it, softening. "Why focus on what we don't know when we have what we do know? You know what happiness you've found in your life here; I know what I've had in mine. The past is gone…but we still have the future."

"And the present."

"Yes. And the present."

They were silent for a time. Then "But what about the future, Iris? Where do we go from here?"

Iris hesitated. "You could always come home," she said slowly. "You'd be welcomed back, I'm sure."

Badger thought about it, though he knew his initial response would not change, before he answered with a slow shake of his head. "This is my home," he replied truthfully. "I don't think I could leave it. Leave _them_. It can be a rough life, but…it's mine. They can be a rough crew, but…_they_'re mine. And I love them."

"Even Ice?" Iris asked with a small crooked smile.

"_Especially _Ice," Badger affirmed with a grin. He became serious again. "But, you know…you could always stay here. It would take some getting used to, I know, both for you and for the others, but they'd accept you, with time. You're my sister, after all. You're as much Wind's kit as I am. They took me in, and from what you've said, they knew I was half-kittypet."

"Kittypet?"

"… Housecat."

Iris thought about it—really, truly, deeply thought about it. She had always wondered what her life might have been like with her brother and sister. And after her mother had told her about her father, she had wondered what life with the rogue wild cats could have been like to have kept him so devoted to them. Now, Badger was all the family she had left. They had missed out on so much time together; here, they could make up for that lost time. It would mean leaving the village…and she knew that if she decided to stay here—and if the rogues would let her stay here—she wouldn't be allowed to go back and visit her acquaintances there because she would certainly be put on probation; they wouldn't let her go back if she intended to show them she really wanted to be one of them.

Though it wouldn't really be much of a sacrifice. The village cats were by and large a gossipy bunch—silly, really. They wouldn't miss her in the long run; she had never really completely fit in with them, and she had never really wanted to. Whereas life with the village cats was predictable and gratifying at best, life with the rogues would be exciting—an adventure. She would have purpose. She would have Badger. He wanted her and needed her. Who needed her now? Her housefolk was old. She was getting more and more forgetful lately; more often than not, she'd forget to put food out for Iris. She wouldn't miss Iris, either.

But then an image came to her mind, a white-pelted emerald-eyed image, and no matter how hard she tried to put it out of her mind, the picture stayed in her head, framed in guilt. Frost. He hadn't been in the village for long, but in the time since, he had become a good friend…maybe more. Could she throw that all away? Perhaps she could, but what about him? He truly seemed to care about her… She genuinely seemed to mean something to him. Could she be so selfish as to leave him now? Could she do that to him? Or to herself?

"Badger…"

"I understand."

"No, Badger. I want to stay here with you. Really, I do. I never would have dreamt that I would have this opportunity to spend the rest of my life with the brother I thought dead… I never thought I'd see you again on this earth, never mind be able to live out the rest of my days on it with you. More than anything, I want to stay." Iris shuffled her paws. "Well…almost anything."

Badger cocked his head, a smile playing at the corners of his muzzle. "Is there someone…?"

Iris ducked her head. "Maybe. I don't know. It isn't that simple…but then, what is?" She shook her head and looked up at him. "Nothing in this world is black and white."

"Except me." Badger grinned.

Iris couldn't help but smile. "Except you," she agreed.

Badger hesitated, then leaned forward to touch his nose to hers. "Just know," he said slowly, "there will always be a place for you here if you want it. I promise you that."

They talked for a while more, about themselves, about their lives. Iris told Badger what she had learned about their sister Leaf from the loners and their father Wind from her mother, and Badger listened and plied her with questions. But as the trees around cast the den into deeper and deeper shades of longer and longer shadows, they knew they could avoid the end no longer.

The sun was slinking towards the horizon, casting slanting rays through the trees into the camp as Badger led Iris out of Ice's den. Curious gazes followed them into the forest. They talked more as they walked, about anything and everything. They could never make up for all the time they had lost, but they could at least give each other a glimpse of what they had missed. Even if they weren't to remain together, they could at least leave a piece of themselves with each other.

They separated at the edge of the forest. The parting was brief; they had said all that needed to be said. And when all was said and done, they went their separate ways, Iris back to the village, Badger back into the woods.

When Badger reentered the clearing, he was not surprised to find that the rogue camp had returned to its former peace. But he was pleasantly surprised to find the new peace that had settled in his heart.


End file.
